


The Hunt

by LadyRa



Category: Highlander: The Series, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRa/pseuds/LadyRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra takes her revenge, and the hunt is on for Methos, but it's not only Immortals that are after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> EPISODE SPOILERS: Set after the whole Kronos/Horsemen thing for Highlander (Revelation 6.8 and before the next Methos ep), no particular time for Stargate. Probably 4th season or so. Pretend the timelines match up to the Stargate timeline, okay?  
> NOTES: I made up everything about Aberdeen, WA. So, any of you Aberdeenians, don't shoot! Same for Seattle. LOL. And let's all ignore that Peter Wingfield played a Goa'uld on SG-1, okay?  
> THANKS: Thanks to my vunderbar betas. My stories are always so much better for their hard work. For this story that includes: JillsJourney, Susan, and AnnieB. You guys rock!

The Hunt

Methos was exhausted. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this tired, and after living for over 5000 years, that was saying a lot. There'd been too many quickenings far too fast, and he felt so brittle inside he thought he might shatter into a million pieces. 

It was Cassandra, of course. After Duncan forced her to let him go free, denying her his head, she exacted her revenge by letting it be known that Methos was alive. She must have followed him to see where he'd gone to regroup after Duncan renounced their friendship, and then put Methos smack in the middle of the Game. No, not the middle, right up front.

They had come in droves. Everyone wanted his quickening, his knowledge, his capacity for survival. Taking Methos' head was as good as the ultimate prize. They came too fast for him to move on in order to avoid them. They were blocking every exit to the city, and often one was waiting to fight only minutes after the last challenge. It'd been sheer luck they hadn't come in twos, with the second taking his head on the off-chance the first challenger lost. He'd probably been saved from that fate because no one wanted to be the one waiting in the wings in case the first won, and no one wanted to be first because they'd lose their head immediately after.

He could handle the upstarts. Methos had survived for a very long time and knew how to fight. The real problem was his reputation was drawing the old ones, the good ones out of hiding. The Immortals who normally laid low, their plan to watch the game play out and wait for their numbers to dwindle until the game grew too serious to ignore.

But they came out of hiding for him; he was too enticing a prize to ignore. So in between the easy kills were the hard ones. Ones he staggered away from bleeding from multiple physical wounds that would heal, and mentally and emotionally assaulted by the overwhelming power of the quickenings.

Some of the heads he'd taken had been from Immortals almost as old as he. Methos hadn't realized there were so many. And he was beginning to believe he was going to meet them all, one by one.

Sometimes Methos couldn't remember who he was. With all the quickenings came all the lives, the memories, the countless deaths, the loves and passions and the hatreds. They filled Methos' head until he thought it might burst. He lost hours sometimes, seeing the world through memories long gone until some small noise suddenly brought him back to himself. 

Right now, he was hiding. There was no other word for it. He sat in a darkened corner of the church and blinked his eyes, hoping it might stop the inner reeling. It wasn't helping much. 

One moment he'd be a priest, then a rapist, then a husband, a whore, a son, then a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker. Methos let out a mirthless laugh. He was reduced to nursery rhymes. God, he was tired. He hadn't slept in days, couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a full meal.

Memories of Duncan's company, good food, cold beer, taunted him. He missed his friend. Could have used his help right now, but that avenue was cut off to him; Duncan had been very clear about that. But if Methos' quickening had to go to someone, he wanted it to go to Duncan. It wasn't the first time Methos had thought that or said it out loud. But the Highlander had refused his offer. 

Maybe he should call Duncan. Maybe this time Duncan would take his head. If he could stop long enough to actually make a phone call, maybe he would. 

"Methos!" The angry yell came through the front door. "You can't hide in there forever."

Methos knew that, but he wanted to pretend he could. But this church, while still on holy ground, had been abandoned, slated for demolition at some time in the future. There was no one here to bring him food, and the only water to drink was the fetid pools in the communion fonts.

Vivid memories of centuries of droughts, famine, ones he'd lived through, and ones others had lived through, flared through his mind, leaving him even thirstier, hungrier. He needed to drink, to eat. Staying here was only weakening him, but he wasn't sure he was up to another fight. Two last night; another at dawn right outside this church. 

He had kept track at the start. Possibly because of his watcher training, wanting to keep track of who he'd killed, maybe funnel the information to Joe. When the count grew to over one hundred, he began to lose track.

He'd forget if it had been six or seven on Monday. Or if Tuesday had been the day he'd killed those two women, or if that had been Wednesday. And was Thursday the day he'd almost lost? The day when he'd been stabbed five times before he'd finally succeeded in taking the miserable sod's head?

It was running together like the darkest of Van Goghs; the Scream felt like a self-portrait. The last time he'd been able to get near food, he could barely remember how to speak English. He had a thousand languages floating around in his head. Many long dead, even though Methos still understood them. It wasn't until the look on the waiter's face had finally sunk in that Methos realized he'd been speaking Portuguese. Or was it Greek? Maybe Latin.

Like a child, he closed his eyes and wished very hard. He wanted Duncan. He wanted Duncan to sweep in and rescue him. That was what Duncan was good at after all. So let him come. Let him kill the fool outside, find Methos, feed him, and then Methos would let Duncan take his head. 

Methos opened an eye, squinting, and saw that he was still alone. Not that it was a surprise, but Methos was willing to be a little bit crazy. Surely he was tired and hungry and miserable enough for a good hallucination. 

"Come out, damn you, or I'll come in after you," came the angry voice from outside.

Methos couldn't even remember what the man had looked like. He'd watched him for a moment from the doorway of the church, listened to the man's challenge while he dramatically pulled his sword. Methos had been unimpressed.

Technically, if Methos had ever been bothered to live by the rules, he should have gone out and fought him, but Methos had never bothered to live by the rules. So, instead, he'd turned around and entered the church, trusting that this idiot, like so many others before him, was held captive by blind obedience.

No fighting on holy ground.

As old as Methos was, he had no idea why that legend had taken such a hold on Immortals. A couple of bad quickenings combined with the old Sanctuary laws, probably. Over time, over centuries, rumor became fact, a collective consciousness. If that quickening MacLeod had taken on the Eiffel Tower had been in the olden days, the legend would be that you couldn't take a head in Paris. 

Methos found it deliciously ironic that people who survived by chopping off people's heads, took to heart the rules of holy ground. He knew the legends of holy ground were false. Methos had been forced, once, to kill on holy ground and had been very surprised that all he'd experienced was a normal quickening as opposed to heaving fault lines and roofs caving in. It had been long before the days of Watchers, so he'd been able to keep that secret to himself.

He heard footsteps and looked up to see the man had entered the church. His sword, however, was sheathed.

"Come for confession?" Methos drawled.

"No," the man snarled. "I've come to drag your ancient carcass outside."

Figures the man would be someone who obeyed the letter of the law but not the spirit. Methos pulled himself up to a standing position. Foolish, perhaps, but Methos had enough dignity to choose not to be dragged kicking and screaming to his death.

"What's your name?" he asked. Not that it mattered, but it gave him a few seconds to look his opponent over, gauge his strengths. And a few seconds to enjoy the drama. The man was tall, dressed in black, a black cape draped over his shoulders. On his head he wore a hat that came straight out of the seventeenth century. The only thing missing was a long white feather and he could have been Athos, Porthos, or Aramis. 

The man, astonishingly, swept his hat off his head and bowed. A courtly gesture, fit for a king.

Methos stared for a second, in his exhaustion almost mesmerized by the outlandish courtesy paid him by one who had every intention of killing him. But then he snapped out of it and, pulling his sword quickly, he made the killing blow, just as the man began to rise.

A fool, Methos thought contemptuously, bowing and exposing his neck like that. A dead fool. Methos had no idea how the man had survived this long. And then the quickening hit and his world went nonsensical as once again he was deluged with the memories of hundreds of lives.

Hours later, or maybe days, months, years, Methos dragged himself out of the church, pulling the dead body behind him with one hand, the head with the other. Leaving the body and head to rest on the front steps, Methos stumbled for a moment then managed to find his feet. His awareness of his identity flickered in and out, leaving him occasionally to wonder who he was and where he was going. Deciding his thirst was paramount, he went in search of water, putting one foot in front of the other, finding comfort in the simple activity.

In time he came into a town where there were people. He tried to speak to them but they shied away, pointing fingers. Someone spoke sharply to him, but he couldn't understand the words. He stumbled, fell to his knees. Then, giving in to his exhaustion and the confusion in his mind, he lost himself to unconsciousness. 

*****

Osiris impatiently gestured to the messenger. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

The messenger bowed obsequiously, handing him a scroll. "A message, my Lord." He bowed again.

Osiris decided he'd let the messenger live. He took the scroll, dismissing the sniveling man, and rolled it open. His human host, currently a beautiful blonde woman, stiffened in displeasure. He almost wished the messenger was still in the room so he could rip out his beating heart and crush it in his hands, pretending it belonged to the one he truly wished to harm.

But then the realization struck that here was his opportunity for revenge. Still alive. After all these centuries. 

Methos.

The murderer of Tefnut. Beloved of Osiris. He would make Methos cry out in pain for a thousand years.

*****

Joe slapped down a thick sheaf of paper on the bar, almost unsettling Duncan's beer. 

"Hey," Duncan complained.

"Look at this," Joe ordered, pushing it close enough that Duncan had to rescue his beer or the stack of paper would have pushed it right into his lap.

With a frown, Duncan took control of the stack, and gave it a quick look. "What is this?"

"Dead Immortals," Joe said.

Duncan's eyebrows went up as he rifled through the pages like a movie flip book. "Is this a list of all the Immortals that have died, in what, the last few years?" He looked through it for some familiar names. Glancing up at Joe, Duncan said, "I don't understand. I don't recognize any of the names in here. What is this list?"

"It's a list of all the Immortals that have died in the last month."

Duncan snorted. "That's impossible."

"Mac," Joe said seriously. "They were all killed by one immortal."

"Do you want me to go after him?" Duncan asked. He couldn't conceive of an immortal who could survive so many quickenings that quickly. "And I’m still not saying I believe you. According to this list," he added, flipping through it again, "half of these Immortals are thousands of years old."

"I know," Joe said. "And no! I don't want you to go after him. We thought a lot of these Immortals were dead, or we didn't even know they existed, but something special pulled them out of hibernation. Suddenly they're as common as rats in a tenement, and they're all missing a head."

"If you don't want me to go after him, is this just a simple warning?" Duncan asked, taking a swallow of beer. He appreciated the warning, but Joe sounded almost desperate, too desperate, for this to be just some advice to be cautious.

"No," Joe snapped. "I'm telling you that Methos has killed all of these Immortals."

Duncan almost dropped his beer. "What?"

"Methos."

Disbelievingly, Duncan snorted out a laugh, and said, "Tell me another one, Dawson."

"I'm serious."

"Seriously insane," Duncan said, refusing to believe what Joe was saying.

Joe started laying photographs out on the table. One after another of Methos standing over the body of a dead immortal, being taken by the quickening, in some of them looking barely human.

Duncan's heart started to pound as he stared at the pictures. There was no exultation on Methos' face. Instead there was growing exhaustion as the photos flipped by. Desperation. Flashes of hopelessness. "I don't understand," he said again, half-paralyzed, not wanting to hear that somehow this was his fault, his responsibility.

"It was Cassandra," Joe said harshly. "She put the word out that Methos was still alive. They're coming after him in droves."

Cassandra. Duncan felt a surge of too many painful emotions he didn't want to face. Paramount among them was Cassandra standing over Methos, prepared to take his head. She'd turned from him at Duncan's plea, and Duncan had naively assumed it was done. He'd lost Cassandra's friendship because of it, and then he'd turned Methos away, too angry to bear his company.

If he'd missed Methos more than he expected, Duncan was just stubborn enough to hide it in booze, Joe's company, and the occasional willing woman.

But these pictures of Methos made Duncan want to find the man and protect him. Tuck him into bed with a cup of chicken noodle soup. "Where is he?" he asked in a thick voice. "Is he still alive?" Maybe he was too late.

"We lost track of him in the outskirts of Aberdeen."

"Scotland?"

"No, Washington, the Olympic Peninsula."

"He's still here?" Duncan couldn’t believe he was still so close. Why hadn't he left, especially when the first one came for him knowing his true identity? Why hadn't Methos fled?

"I don't think he had a chance to leave," Joe said grimly. "Cassandra didn't waste any time." He tapped the pictures again. "Hundreds, Mac, hundreds of them. And probably a few dark quickenings among them. I'll bet he doesn't even know who he is anymore."

A shudder raced down Duncan's spine at the thought of the dark quickening he'd taken. He'd lost himself. If it hadn't been for Methos, Duncan might never have reclaimed himself. He'd have stayed a ravening beast, killing for the sheer joy of it, forgetting all he held true and important. 

He still hadn't worked though his anger at Methos, but he wouldn't wish that on the old man. There were even some days when he found it hard to hang onto the resentment, when reciting the reasons he was so riled felt petty and narrow-minded. He'd always prided himself on being fair, and on certain days, when he thought of Methos and how he'd treated him, it made him cringe.

Sure they'd seen each other at the cemetery after the other three horsemen were dead, but there'd been no resolution, and Methos had walked away speaking of regrets. Since then, they'd seen each other when they'd accidentally crossed paths, but the old camaraderie they'd shared was gone. He never came home to find Methos on his sofa, wearing his clothes, drinking his beer, and making a general pest of himself. Duncan told himself he was glad of it, but he wasn't a very good liar, even to himself.

"Where in Aberdeen?" he asked Joe.

"An abandoned Catholic church on the outskirts of town. A retired priest is living there across the street in the old rectory as caretaker until the church gets pulled down. If he'd come out any earlier, he would have found a headless corpse outside his door."

"One of you took it?" Duncan asked.

Joe nodded. "We have no idea who the corpse is, but he was old enough, or sneaky enough, not to have a watcher of his own. He was only found because we've been following the body trail for weeks."

Duncan stood, patting his pockets for his keys. "Give me an address, Joe," he asked, "and I'll head up there."

Joe hesitated. "He might not recognize you," he reminded Duncan. "He might just take your head, too."

"I'll be careful," Duncan assured him.

Joe rolled his eyes. "You know, it's usually Methos who bails your ass out of trouble. Keep that in mind before you do something stupid."

"Thanks for the pep talk," Duncan said wryly. "I'll bring him back."

"See that you do," Joe said softly.

*****

When he next woke he was in a room, all white, padded. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. Truthfully, upon reflection, he wasn't entirely sure who he was.

He was sitting, pressed tightly against the corner. He was wearing white pants, a white tunic, and nothing else. There were red marks on his wrists and ankles making him assume he'd been restrained at some point.

Names flashed through his mind. Methos. MacLeod. Kronos. Darius. Dozens more, but none of them told him anything, certainly not who he was.

He heard footsteps, and he sprang up and raced for the door. There was no window, and he wasn't surprised to find the door locked, but it didn't stop him from pounding on it, yelling for help and for someone to let him out. He knew his answers didn't lie within this locked, padded room.

*****

"It was the weirdest thing, Daniel," Lew Feretti told him. "I'd swear he was yelling in that gobbledy-gook you spoke on Abydos."

"Ancient Egyptian?" Daniel asked over a mouthful of soup, as he ate a quick lunch in the mess hall.

"I guess. I never saw him. My uncle's there, you know. Total nutcase."

"I was in a place just like that, you know," Daniel said dryly. It wasn't one of his favorite memories.

Lew had the grace to wince. "Yeah, sorry about that." 

"Do you know why he's there?" Daniel asked.

"Scuttlebutt says they found him wandering the streets, babbling, carrying around a huge sword," Lew said.

"That's peculiar," Daniel noted. "How long has he been there?"

"Just a couple of days. They can't do much with him because no one can talk to him."

"No, there's not a lot of ancient Egyptian spoken around town these days." Daniel didn't mention that the odds of the man actually speaking ancient Egyptian were pretty slim. Not to mention the fact that Lew Feretti didn't have a linguistic bone in his body, and the man had probably been speaking Hindi. 

"Will you go check it out?" Lew pushed.

"Why is it so important to you?" Daniel probed.

"I don't know," Lew said thoughtfully. "He just sounded so lost." He shrugged. "Stupid, but there it is. So, will you go?"

Daniel thought about it. It wasn't that he wasn't willing to go; it was just the time it would take to fly to Washington State that was making him hesitate. He was so behind on everything, and he'd been looking forward to some downtime. In fact, he was due at Jack's in about an hour. "If we manage to get a couple of days off soon, I'll go up," he offered. It was the best he could do. 

Lew slapped Daniel on the arm. "Thanks, Doc. I owe you."

*****

"So Feretti found a nut just for you?" Jack asked, as he pulled the steaks off the grill.

"Apparently," Daniel said, as he scooped out salad onto the two plates. "Lew thought he was speaking ancient Egyptian."

"Feretti wouldn't know ancient Egyptian if it bit him on the ass," Jack observed.

"I know," Daniel said. "But he seemed really sure."

"So who, besides you, would know how to speak ancient Egyptian?"

Daniel eyed his steak appreciatively as Jack slapped it on his plate. "Ancient Egyptian scholars?"

"Which are a dime a dozen," Jack commented in light sarcastic tones. "Thick on the ground. Seems to me if one of them was missing, there'd be people looking for them."

"True," Daniel admitted. "A Goa'uld."

That gave Jack pause. "A crazy Goa'uld?" He didn't much care for that idea.

"Someone from Abydos," Daniel said, running out of options.

"Unlikely," Jack said. "Besides, they'd be asking for you, wouldn't they?"

"Sure," Daniel said, "but asking for Danyel isn't likely to get them far. Besides, if one of them got here it would be through some sort of alien technology, and if that was the case, someone definitely would have called us."

"Unless it's undiscovered alien technology," Jack pointed out.

"In which case it would be unlikely that anyone from Abydos would go near it, at least from their end. They use technology when they have to, but it's not their favorite thing," Daniel reminded him.

"So, a Goa'uld?" Jack said unhappily.

Daniel sighed. "I guess we're going to Washington."

"Yeah, I guess we are." Jack pointed at Daniel's plate. "Eat up. I'll call Hammond."

"Jack," Daniel said. "You need to eat, too."

"And I will eat," Jack said, "after I call Hammond." Jack whipped open his cell phone to call the General to let him know the situation.

*****

Fitting, Osiris thought, that he would find revenge on the very planet that had taken away his freedom for so long. There were many here that deserved his wrath; Methos was at the top of a very long list. Daniel Jackson was another that would die by his hand.

But first Methos would die slowly. As they flew to Earth, Osiris whiled away the time thinking of all the ways he could kill an Immortal before finally taking his head.

*****

Daniel stood outside the door to the unknown man's room and listened. He could hear muttering, but nothing distinct. "I need to go in there," he told Jack.

"He's been violent," Jack pointed out. "Not a good idea."

"So come in with me. Bring Teal'c." 

Jack didn't look convinced.

"Has anyone reported glowing eyes or an unexpectedly deep voice?" Daniel asked Janet. She had come with them, in hopes of running interference with any medical obstructions.

"No," she said. "He's just confused and occasionally violent. They say he keeps making slashing motions. Someone here who fences says it looks as if he's fighting someone with a sword, which might be the truth, as he was found with one."

"Weird," Jack said.

"We aren't going to find out anything from out here," Daniel said as patiently as he could. "I thought the idea of coming up here was to actually talk to him."

Jack scowled. "Fine." He motioned to the guard to unlock the door. The guard had been standing there tapping his feet in time with the music audibly blaring from the iPod speaker in his ear. 

Hammond had spun a fine tale to those in authority here, saying the man might be one of theirs, lost in action a while ago. It had opened every door for them so far, except this one.

The guard looked uncertain, but Daniel encouraged him. "We signed the forms. You won't be held accountable if something happens."

Still looking unhappy about it, the guard unlocked the door and then stood back with a gesture that clearly said: it's your funeral. Daniel turned the knob but Jack stopped him before he could push the door open. "I think I'll go first."

Daniel looked at the zat in Jack's hands, ready for use. Technically, they weren't supposed to have weapons with them, but Jack had managed to sneak this out of Cheyenne Mountain and then into a locked unit, something that didn't surprise Daniel at all. "Fine," Daniel said, making sure he stood between Jack's zat and the guard so he wouldn’t see that Jack was armed. Although a moment later he heard the guard's steps move away. Clearly he was washing his hands of this whole insanity.

Jack slipped in, Daniel and Janet right behind him. The man was hunched in the corner, dressed in white scrubs, and the sight of it sent shivers of unhappy memories down Daniel's spine. "Hello," he said kindly.

The man's eyes flickered from him to Jack to Janet, and back again. There was no recognition there, let alone trust.

"My name is Daniel," Daniel began, having to consciously abort the rest of his speech about being peaceful explorers from Earth. Seeing such incomprehension on the man in front of him had him almost saying it anyway, as if they were on a mission, and the man an inhabitant of another planet. "I won't hurt you." He repeated the phrase in ancient Egyptian.

The man's gaze rested on him. It darted away, taking in Jack and Janet, the room, then back to Daniel. Daniel could see him struggle to think, to make sense of where he was and who they were. His brow furrowed and his lips tightened, his eyes narrowing, squinting, as if thinking hurt him. He even shook his head as if to shake thoughts loose. "Who?" he finally said, in ancient Egyptian.

"I'm Daniel," Daniel repeated, after a surprised moment that Lew had been right. He hoped Jack would be okay with this conversation happening in a language he didn't understand. Interpreting as he went along might only add to the confusion of the man in front of him.

"Who?" was all he said again.

"My name is Daniel," Daniel said patiently. "What's your name?" He left Jack's side and approached, ignoring Jack's snarl from behind him.

The man made a slashing movement with his hands, and it was just as Janet said. If he were actually holding a sword it would now be resting on the side of Daniel's neck. Daniel was very glad the sword was all in the man's mind.

"What is your name?" Daniel asked again, clearly enunciating every ancient Egyptian syllable.

The man let out a guttural sound that sounded like another language. Daniel let that process through his brain for a long moment until, while he wasn't exactly sure of the translation, he was fairly certain he'd been cursed at in ancient Russian. 

"Who are you?" Daniel asked again, this time in Russian. That didn't garner him any kind of helpful response, and the invisible sword still lay against his neck.

There was a commotion at the door, and Daniel turned his head enough to see Teal'c enter. That got an intriguing reaction.

The man let out a stream of four letter words in several languages, one after the other. One hand holding tight to his imaginary sword, the other hand went to the back of his neck. He said one very recognizable word that even Jack would understand, spitting out: "Apophis."

"Whoa," Jack said, sounding taken aback. To Teal'c he added, "I’m guessing he's a Goa'uld?"

"He is not," Teal'c said.

"Then what is he? How does he know about Apophis?" Jack asked in plaintive, and very aggravated, tones.

In response to his bitten out word, Teal'c spoke in Goa'uld to their mystery man. "I no longer serve Apophis. I stand with the T'auri and fight against the System Lords."

The man stared at Teal'c, back at Daniel. He scrabbled at the back of his neck. "Did it go in?" he asked in Goa'uld, frantic, scratching now at his nape to the point of drawing blood. He let out the sort of disgusted yelp that Daniel associated with anyone sensible seeing a Goa'uld heading their way.

Daniel grabbed his hand away. "No. It didn't get in," he said, also in Goa'uld. "You're safe."

"Daniel," Jack said with a scowl Daniel couldn't see but could hear in 3D sense-around, "what the hell is going on? Who is this guy? How does he know about Goa'uld, and he's speaking Goa'uld, right? Buddy, who the hell are you?"

Another intense look of concentration crossed the man's face. "Too many." He pressed the heel of his hand into the side of his head. "Too many lives." He bowed his head. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he finally gasped out.

"That's who you are? Duncan MacLeod?" Daniel asked.

The man shook his head, but more in confusion than answer. He noticed Teal'c again, and the make-believe sword was back up, held in front of him. He got to his feet. "Challenge?"

"Teal'c?" Daniel asked, "I think you should leave."

"Very well, but I will be right outside the door." There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and Daniel saw the man minutely relax. That was when the man seemed to really notice Janet for the first time. He smiled at her, an expression that made him look young and charming. The contrast to the drawn, miserable and confused affect from a moment ago made him seem a completely different man.

Even though the smile hadn't been directed at him, Daniel smiled back. "What's your name?" he asked easily, as if they'd just met.

The man's attention was drawn back to him, and he cocked his head to the side, considering Daniel. He brought his imaginary sword down to his side. "Are you," the man stopped, biting his lip, sounding very unsure. "Are you Daniel Jackson?" he finished. He smiled uncertainly at Daniel, but a second later it slid off. "You're dead. I heard you died." He took a step back. "What is this place? Who are you?"

Faster than Daniel could imagine, the man darted out and grabbed him, pulling him into his corner, using him as a shield, one arm tight around his neck.

All Daniel could think was that Jack was going to kill him.

*****

Duncan stood inside the entrance to St. Angelica's Catholic Church, and felt the remnants of a recent quickening. There was a slight tang to the air and the hairs on the back of Duncan's neck were raised. 

There was no body; he recalled that Joe had told him the Watchers had cleaned up after Methos. He could tell the body had lain on the doorstep to the church as the man's blood had stained the old granite.

What had Duncan flabbergasted, though, was that he would swear Methos took the man's head off inside the church. In the corner of the nave was a tell-tale streak of blood that only a falling head could make; Duncan had seen it enough to recognize it. On top of that, he was surrounded by the charred residue of a quickening that had happened inside, not outside. He was sure the Watchers wouldn't have noticed either the blood stains or the quickening after-effects as it would never have occurred to them to enter the church. Methos must have dragged the body and the head outside.

Duncan, though, had come in, on the off chance, however unlikely, that Methos was still there, or in the hopes that he'd left some kind of clue to help Duncan find him.

What he'd found, instead, paralyzed him where he stood. Had Methos meant to take a head on holy ground in hopes of ending his own life? Had he been too confused with all the quickenings that he hadn't even noticed? How was the church still standing? There was no structural damage at all, other than that wrought by the passage of years.

He tried to remember everything he'd heard about taking a quickening on holy ground. Earthquakes, the ground splitting and opening, swallowing the church whole, annihilation to anyone nearby. Pompeii. Everyone knew this; it was as basic as any Immortal tenet. 

But somehow Methos had done it. Duncan let out an unbelieving snort. How?

"Can I help you?"

Duncan started, chagrinned he'd been woolgathering enough to allow someone to sneak up on him like that. He found an elderly grey-haired priest in black pants, black short sleeved shirt, and a white collar denoting his occupation. The man smiled at him in a friendly fashion. 

"Father," Duncan said, "I didn't see you there."

"All the better to sneak up on the youngsters smoking cigarettes, or worse, somewhere on the property," the priest said with an infectious grin.

Duncan grinned back at him. "I don't smoke."

"Glad to hear it. Do you need something?"

"Yes," Duncan said, forcing himself to ignore the splatter of blood on the wall. "I am looking for a friend who's in trouble. He might be confused." Wincing, he added, "He might have a sword with him." He hated to mention it, but on the other hand, it would be the one thing that would likely stick in someone's memory.

The priest's eyes widened. "Ah, yes. There was a man in town a couple of days ago. He didn't know who he was."

"Where is he?" Duncan asked eagerly.

"They took him away, but I'm not sure where. The police should be able to tell you. I imagine it was to either the Crisis Stabilization Unit in Aberdeen, or a psychiatric unit in Seattle."

Duncan nodded, wondering how he could break Methos out of a psychiatric unit. The man was going to owe him big time. "Thank you, Father."

"I hope you find him," the priest said kindly, "and may God be with you."

"Thank you." With a nod, Duncan left the nave, leaving behind the proof of a beheading on holy ground, and walked back to his car. Once there he called Joe, thinking the man could find him faster than Duncan could.

Strange, he thought, as the phone rang, that all the anger that had been festering in him about Methos and his appalling past had been swept away in his concern for the old man. And rather than feel annoyed by that, feeling put out that Methos was causing him more trouble, all Duncan felt was relief that his anger was gone.

*****

An Immortal stood outside King County General Hospital. Even from here he could sense the presence of the old one inside. The security here was laughable, and he had no doubt he could get inside, take Methos' head, and be gone before anyone was the wiser, even with the quickening. For a moment he felt the presence of another Immortal. Vigilant, he tried to pinpoint the source, but Methos' presence overrode everything, making it difficult to tell. The Immortal's mouth watered for the man's power. He would be invincible after this.

He maintained his position outside for another long moment and then strode toward the entrance.

*****

Osiris ringed down to Earth with eight Jaffa to the location on the instructions the messenger had sent. A slender woman with long dark hair approached.

"You are Cassandra?" Osiris demanded.

"I am," the woman said, too proudly. Osiris would see her dead once her usefulness had come to an end. 

"Where is Methos?"

"A place called King County General Hospital," she said, handing over a sheet of paper with the name and directions on it. 

Osiris accessed the memories of the woman whose body he resided in to put that sentence in context. Ah, Methos must be injured. Weak. He would find him, return to his ship with him, and torture him to death over and over again. The thought made him smile. He looked at Cassandra and found a similar smile on her face as well. "You wish him dead?"

"I wish him misery," Cassandra bit out. "Endless years of misery."

"That you may be sure of," Osiris said. 

 

*****

None of this was making sense. Nothing made sense. Who was this man who could speak so many languages, and smiled at him, and looked like, and said he was, Daniel Jackson, a dead man from…from... He tried to think. From where? How did he know Jackson was dead? "Am I dead?" 

"No," Daniel said calmly in ancient Egyptian, not fighting his hold. "I mean you no harm." Then, speaking in English, he said, "Jack, don't. He's not hurting me."

"Yet."

"He's just confused."

"Fine," Jack snapped. "Let him be confused someplace away from you."

"Please let me go," Daniel said. "We can talk. I can stay as long as you need me to. Please. You seemed to know me. Do you know me?"

He wished he could remember his name. Names paraded in his head like a list to a party. Duncan, Joe, Amanda, Richie, Sean, Byron, Jonathan, Julia, Methos, Don, and a hundred more. Methos. Duncan. Joe. Methos. Duncan. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. An image of a strikingly handsome man with dark hair and a body honed to perfection swam into view. "What do I look like?" he asked.

"Let me go, please," Daniel asked again.

He let Daniel go. "What do I look like? Is my hair dark?"

"Sort of," Daniel said, straightening his jacket. 

He touched his nose, finding a shape that didn't match the exquisite profile that was front and center in his mind. "Did I have any ID?" He patted his pockets and then looked down at himself wondering what he was wearing.

"How do you know the language you're speaking?" Daniel asked.

"What am I speaking?"

"Ancient Egyptian."

The man thought about that, then shrugged.

"You also speak Greek, Russian, Goa'uld, and English. British English, not American English."

"Where am I?"

"Seattle, Washington."

He snorted, amused without knowing the reason why. As if he always ended up in Washington. Then, "You speak ancient Egyptian."

"I do, yes, but not many do."

"And Greek, and Russian, and English." He smirked. "American English, as opposed to the real thing."

Daniel grinned at him. "It sounds as if you're remembering things."

And just that fast, Methos did. At least he remembered who he was, and he remembered the past few months, his schism from Duncan, all the challenges. He breathed a silent sigh of relief. But at the same time nothing around him made sense. He looked at Daniel suspiciously. "How do you speak ancient Egyptian?" Methos glanced around again, this time with a less-fractured mind. "And how do you have a zat-nik-atel?" 

"Did he just call this a zat? How the hell does he know that? How do you know what this thing is called?" Jack demanded of him.

There must not be a word in ancient Egyptian for a zat, Methos supposed. Actually that was the word for it. The Goa'uld must have appropriated it. He found there were still too many words in hundreds of languages racing through his mind. It was difficult to cleave to one set at a time. Clearly he wasn't one hundred per cent yet.

"I'm a linguist," Daniel said, the perfect syllables and pronunciation of a dead language falling from his lips as if he had lived along the Nile four thousand years ago. It made Methos' heart ache, and precipitated an almost unheard of sense of homesickness for millennia gone by, when everyone Methos knew spoke like this man.

"No linguist speaks as you do," Methos pointed out, "not with such genuine inflection and ease." He gestured at the zat-nik-atel. "How have you met the Goa'uld? I thought they were long gone from here."

"They are," Daniel said. "We met them out there." He gestured with his hand at the ceiling. Methos wasn't sure what he meant. Well, he could guess it meant outer space, but he wasn't sure how that had happened. "Have I been in a coma?" Maybe it was hundreds of years later? No, someone would have noticed that he didn't die. He blew out a short agitated breath. "How did you meet them?" 

Daniel turned briefly to Jack. "Could he work at Stargate or Area 51 in some capacity? Should we fingerprint him?"

"They already did," Jack said. "Nada." 

Daniel touched the back of his own neck. "Did someone try to implant a Goa'uld in you?"

Methos shivered; even after all this time, it was still an unpleasant memory. Not just because of the slug like creature trying to crawl into his brain, but what happened after the creature died when Osiris took him captive and, in retaliation, tortured him for too many deaths to recall. 

Methos groaned at the thought. "No, no, not Osiris. I put him in a canopic jar. Him and Isis."

"What?" Jack snapped out. "Daniel, what the fuck is he saying? Is he talking about the Osiris we know?"

"Oh, god, you know Osiris?" Methos crawled backwards. "Stay away from me!" Methos felt the back of his neck and looked on the floor for a dead symbiote. Felt his ribs crack as Osiris' ribbon device slammed him into a wall, felt his muscles spasm and his bowels loosen as one of Osiris' Jaffa rammed a pain stick into his gut, twisting, twisting. 

"No, no, it's okay," Daniel said carefully, worriedly, in English now, hand out as if in a gesture of peace. "We're not with Osiris. We're his enemy. I'm Daniel, remember. He's Jack, and that's Janet. That's all. We're the good guys."

Jack snorted, and Methos watched as Daniel glared in response. He bit back a smile; somehow the way they reacted to each other reminded him of the way it used to be with him and Duncan. He pushed that painful thought away and focused on the here and now.

Daniel. How could Daniel be here? Wherever here was? Methos remembered him from a few years ago, before his career had tanked, thinking he held promise. Methos forced himself to take a deep breath and reason it out. 

Obviously someone had decided Daniel knew what he was talking about, despite his, ironically, bad press about pyramids being used as landing platforms. By the looks of the other man in the room, it was the military who had taken interest. The woman was also military, but Methos would have bet money she was a healer of some kind. But why they had the First Prime, or ex-First Prime, of Apophis with them was beyond his imagining. And Daniel's so-called lie of a death still made no sense. Then again, it's not like Methos hadn't died a time or two. 

Methos sagged back against the wall. Despite these people making little sense, suddenly he felt like himself for the first time in…actually, he had no idea what month it was. "What month is it?" he asked in English, knowing it was English this time. 

"November," Daniel said. "You look like you…are you less confused?"

"A little," he admitted, a slight curve to his lips.

Daniel stared at him, memories starting to tease his mind. "Are you…" He stopped.

"Am I what?"

"Are you Adam Pierson?" 

Methos blinked at Daniel, not wanting to answer. He closed his eyes, wondering how long he could stay here, just how crazy he'd have to act to remain in this place until he felt more rested. Now he could tell he was in a hospital, a psychiatric unit given his scrubs and the padded walls. He could still feel exhaustion thick in his body, even if all his wounds had healed. Maybe if he grabbed Daniel again they'd keep him locked up for a long time.

"Want to share with the class?" Jack asked with a frown.

"Jack, I think this is Adam Pierson," Daniel began. "He's a linguist, too. An expert at Hieroglyphic, cuneiform and Phoenician writing systems. I reference your work sometimes," he told Adam. "I've heard you speak. Assuming you are Adam Pierson."

"And he knows who you are, how?" Jack bit out.

"Linguists of our quality, Jack, well, you said it, we're not exactly thick on the ground."

Methos wasn't quite sure what to say. If he admitted he was Adam Pierson, he had no doubt that Daniel, who he could tell was as much of a do-gooder as Duncan MacLeod, would do everything in his power to get him released. If he got released, they'd come for him again, and he wasn't ready. Another thought struck him. "I don't understand," he said, "how do you know of the Goa'uld?"

"Actually," Jack said sharply, "what we'd like to know is how you know about the Goa'uld?"

Obviously Methos wasn't quite put together yet, as he'd lost any ability to be discreet, and these people, these government people, despite the guileless blue of Daniel Jackson's eyes, were going to take him away and bury him in a deep hole somewhere. He shook his head.

"Lost your tongue all of a sudden?" Jack challenged. "I've had enough." To Janet he said, "We need to take him with us. Call Hammond if this place isn't willing to transfer him to us."

She nodded, frowned at Methos, not unkindly, and left the room.

"I can't go with you," Methos said. Then, as he sensed an Immortal presence heading his way, he said, "Fuck. Lock the door."

"You know too much," Jack said, not locking the door. "And I want to know how. I think you've still got a few screws loose, but you and Daniel can blab in any language you want until I get some answers, once I get you someplace secure."

"I'll put you in danger. Lock the door." Like right now. He tried to struggle to his feet. Gods, he felt so weak. The Immortals that had been coming for him wouldn't care about human casualties. They wanted to win the game and his head was the key strategy.

"Not where we're going," Jack said sternly. "And why do you want me to lock the door?"

Methos hated the flicker of hope that lit up inside of him thinking maybe it was MacLeod. That hope, futile as it was, died a quick death when a stranger pushed the door open. Why would Duncan come? He hated Methos; he'd told him they were through. 

"Old one," the Immortal said. "I challenge thee."

"I've got company," Methos said. "Maybe later."

"Now."

"Just hang on there," Jack complained. "No one is challenging anyone."

"You cannot interfere," the stranger said.

"They're not a part of this," Methos said. 

"Then they can leave." With that he pulled out a sword.

"Yeah, I don't think so," Jack said, and shot him with a zat blast.

Methos smiled approvingly at him. "I couldn’t have done it better myself."

"Who the fuck was that bozo?"

"I never saw him before," Methos said honestly. And then he felt another Immortal. "Damn it," he said, this time making it to his feet. He wasn't ready for this. And he didn't want any of these people to die. Especially someone with as nice an ass as Daniel Jackson. Not as nice as MacLeod's, but whose was? Seriously.

It was a cluster-fuck from the second the Immortal walked through the door. Daniel had gone over to Jack and the two of them were arguing over the first guy passed out on the floor. This new Immortal didn't care, all he knew was he wanted Methos' head. Methos had one second to decide to either lunge for the zat or grab for the sword of the other Immortal. As the Immortal's sword was already in swing, Methos chose to retrieve the sword on the floor. He was afraid if he grabbed for the zat, it would be Daniel's head on the floor.

The swords collided mid-air.

"What the fuck?" Jack yelled.

Methos wanted to yell at him to zat the man, but he had no breath to spare. This one was good, or maybe it was that Methos was still so fucking tired. He took a split second to see if Jack was aiming yet, only to find that Jack's hand was bleeding, and the zat was on the floor. 

Ignoring his wound, Jack was pulling out his pistol.

"Aim for his heart," Methos commanded. "Nothing else will work."

Jack winged him instead.

Damn it. The man tossed his sword to his other hand, grinned ferally at Methos and lunged for him. In his other hand there was suddenly a knife and he threw it at Jack. Daniel yelled a horrified, "No!" and stepped in front of it. It entered his flesh with a sickening thud. Daniel slammed into Jack, taking them down to the floor.

Sick of it, sick of it all, Methos summoned Death and in seconds took the Immortal's head. The Jaffa ran into the room, ready to bring his own sort of death.

"Jaffa! Cover them!" Methos ordered the black man as the lightning began to surround the dead body. Maybe the Jaffa's large size and strength would protect the two humans. The lightning sizzled jumping from the dead Immortal onto Methos. The quickening grabbed hold of him, filling his head with centuries, millennia of lives and the tenuous hold Methos had regained of his sanity was snatched away, and he howled as he fell to his knees.

*****

"What the fuck was that?" Jack bellowed, tired of all this shit and done with it. The freaking blue light was still vibrating around the room, every hair on his body was standing up straight making him itch like hell, and each time he touched something he got the worst sort of static shock that made you not want to touch anything again ever.

That was when he saw the blood. "Daniel?" he said, sick to his stomach, as he remembered his friend doing his usual sacrificial lamb nonsense, saving Jack's life again. "No, no, you do not get to do this again," Jack said, pushing against Teal'c who was for some fucking reason lying on top of them. "Get off!"

Teal'c moved at his command, and Jack could see the ever growing stain of blood on Daniel's chest leaking out around a dagger. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Janet!"

Janet came running, coming to a stop as she took a quick look around. Jack saw what she saw. The guy, Adam, was curled up in a fetal position, grunting in some unrecognizable language, so back to square one on that one then, there was a dead guy on the ground without his head, another guy on the ground still with his head, and Daniel was in Jack's arms bleeding to death.

Janet did some quick silent triaging and moved to Daniel. "Lay him down, Colonel."

That was when the zatted guy started to move. Jack shot him again. Then again. And then again for good measure. Then he shot the guy without the head three times. And then his head. Holy fuck. He'd shoot the crazy guy, too, but Daniel would yell at him. 

"I need to move him," Janet said. "I need to get this knife out of him."

That Jack could do. He picked Daniel up, saying under his breath, "Don't you fucking die on me, Jackson, or I will kill you." Then to Teal'c he said, "Guard him. Don't let anyone in." 

Teal'c nodded grimly, picking up the zat from the floor.

"Anyone tries to get in here, especially with a sword, zat them three times." That was when he noticed that the back of Teal'c's shirt was in tatters and he was bleeding. "You okay?"

"Go," Teal'c said.

Jack went.

*****

Jack sighed as he leaned back against one of the columns in the infirmary. Talk about FUBAR. He hadn't fucked up a mission like this, to this extent, in a long time.

Daniel almost dead. Teal'c hurt. Two unauthorized civilian kills, no strike that, two atomic dissolutions that, if he were lucky, he wasn't telling anyone about. It probably would have been a good thing to keep one alive to question, but it was too late for that. He had brought a crazy nutjob who lopped people's heads off for a hobby back to a top secret military base. He'd left unexplained blood on the site, traumatized hospital staff, and had no good excuses for anyone. And, to top it all off, he had two swords he had no idea what to do with. Three, if you counted the one Teal'c found with the rest of Pierson's possessions.

However, Daniel wasn't dead. Teal'c would be fine. As long as Teal'c kept his mouth shut, which he would, and Daniel had a foggy memory, or could be convinced to have one, the less said about the unauthorized atomizations the better. Jack sighed. 

Jack would keep it simple for right now: Daniel wasn't dead. He glanced down at Daniel, sleeping off the anesthetic from surgery to piece parts of him together that had been sliced by the knife. But he was breathing on his own, and Janet said he'd be fine. And, Jack thought, the currently catatonic guy, assuming he got his marbles back, could be questioned. He seemed to know something about the sword guys and, wow, from what Jack had seen, really knew how to use a sword too. 

Speaking of him, Jack glanced over at the far bed where the man lay, straining against restraints, having what sounded like a nightmare from hell, surrounded by three armed SFs. No one liked it when Daniel got hurt. It really pissed Jack off, and he liked to share his pain.

Who were those guys? And why had they gone after a linguist? Granted, there were a lot of people who wanted Daniel dead, Jack had seen the wanted posters on enough missions to give him cold sweats, but there weren't people bursting into rooms with swords trying to take off his head.

None of it made sense, and Jack wasn't looking forward to the debriefing. Thank God Hammond was in D.C. Hopefully Daniel would wake up in time for them to get their stories straight before he got back.

*****

"Who took him?" Duncan shouted. How could someone take Methos away and no one know who it was. "This is a hospital, someone must know. Did he just walk out?"

"No," one of the nurses said. She looked very young. "They took him on a stretcher." She didn't seem a bit bothered by Duncan's yelling. She looked mostly thrilled at the opportunity to share some juicy gossip and Duncan had to hold his breath for a moment to pull himself together.

"Who took him?" he tried again. "Surely there must be transfer papers, right?" He tried one of his most charming smiles on her, and then noticed her badge. "Someone must know, Maryann. He's a good friend of mine, and I need to find him."

"The shift supervisor got a call," Maryann said, blushing at his regard. Her eyes gave him a quick onceover and she licked her lips. "That's all I know, and then our patient, John Doe, and that other man who got injured somehow, both got taken out on stretchers into a van, with the older guy and the black guy. They had a doctor with them."

Duncan wanted to scream.

"And the room is a wreck," Maryann said. "It looks like it caught on fire."

"Where is it?"

She looked around and then tugged at his arm. "I'll show you." She brought him down a hallway, and then through a door that said: King County General Hospital Psychiatric Ward. "We're supposed to keep this locked, but we're not very good at it. We don't get too many really crazy people here. Mostly self-admits. The guy they took was the craziest guy we've ever had." 

Duncan swallowed uncomfortably. The priest and Joe had been right. Methos had been put away. What had taking all those quickenings done to him? 

She shut the door behind them and then headed down a hallway. "So, what's your name?" she asked.

"Duncan MacLeod," he said, walking faster, feeling the remains of a quickening up ahead. Maryann was forced to jog to keep pace. Not needing her guidance anymore, he walked right to the room, pushing the door open. 

For such a small space, it didn't look as bad as Duncan expected. Maybe because so much of it had been padded so there'd been less steel and iron for the quickening to latch onto, increasing its volatility. "My friend, he was alive?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm Maryann, by the way, but I guess you know that." She giggled. 

"I know this is an odd question, but was anyone killed? Did anyone…" He wasn't exactly sure how to ask someone who looked like they were sixteen if someone had been decapitated.

Her eyebrows went up. "No one died. Jeez. What kind of place do you think this is?" 

Someone died in that room. The echoes of a quickening couldn't be faked. But where had the dead person's body gone? How had they gotten the body out of here? And who had taken Methos? Duncan's head was filled with horrifying images of Methos being taken away by other Immortals to be sacrificed for some arcane and sinister reason. 

"So, you live around here?"

"Do you have some sort of visitor sign-in?"

"They took that with them, clipboard and everything," she said, wrinkling her nose. "But I know the guy who got hurt was called Daniel Jackson. The black guy called him that a couple of times."

"Daniel Jackson?"

She nodded, eagerly. "You free tonight?" A hopeful expression covered her face.

"No, sorry." He patted her on the shoulder and headed out the door, determined to find this Daniel Jackson. "Oh, do you have security tapes?"

"They took those too," she said with an apologetic wince. "How about tomorrow night?" 

He couldn't imagine Immortals having the clout to ask for and receive security tapes.

"I can give you my number," she said helpfully. "Here, give me your hand."

Without thinking, he put out his hand. When something tickled, he looked down to see she was writing her number on his hand with a sharpie. "Stop!" he said, grabbing his hand back, walking to the closest sink and trying to scrub it off.

"Okay, sorry, I'll write it for you on a post-it note. Give me a second."

He watched her disbelievingly as she moved toward the nurses' desk. The relentlessness of youth. Incredible. It made him think of Richie, forcing a reluctant smile to his face. Richie would have let this child write her number on his hand. Most of the number removed, he dried his hands and strode out, leaving Maryann standing at the nurses' desk, the post-it note dangling from her fingers.

As he left the hospital, he felt her presence before he saw her. "Cassandra?" he shouted.

She walked towards him, regal, smug. He hated her then with a fury strong enough to take her head. "Did you take him?"

"No," she said, head high, but she fumbled with her phone, and Duncan grabbed for it.

"Give that back," she demanded. "I need it."

"Where is he? Tell me who took him, and I'll give it back."

"I don't know," she said, but Duncan knew she was lying. 

"I know what's been going on," Duncan said, "and I know it's your fault. And if he dies, I will come for you."

A flicker of fear flashed in her eyes. "You don't mean that. You can't mean that."

"Aye. I do."

"How can you?" she hissed. "He raped me. He kept me as his slave for centuries. You know what he was, what he did. How can you choose him over me? How can you choose a murderer, a rapist, over me?"

Not that long ago, Duncan would have agreed, but now that his anger at Methos had largely dissipated, Joe's words were right there for him to borrow, words his friend had hammered at him, trying to get him to understand how Methos could have been one way then, but be different, someone worthwhile, now. Duncan had other memories to back up Joe's words, from that shared quickening when he and Methos had taken Kronos' and Silas' heads. He was ashamed now that he'd nursed his righteous fury when he knew better. 

"He was raped, too," Duncan rasped out, the memories front and center now that he was giving them their due. They made him gag, and he had to swallow to continue speaking. "A hundred times, more. He was a slave, beaten, starved. He lived during a time when you were a slave or you had slaves, where you killed or you were killed."

"That's a lie. I was there, too. And I didn't rape anyone or destroy villages, burning them to the ground. I kept my humanity."

"Did you?" Duncan demanded of her. "Can you tell me you have done nothing in your lifetime that you regret?" 

Cassandra's eyes skated away, not meeting his. "We all have regrets." Then, more boldly, she stepped toward him. "But what of my wounds? What of me? By defending him, you are saying that he should not pay for raping me, for giving me to someone else to rape. How do you excuse that, Duncan, you who fight for those who are weaker?"

"I don't know, Cassandra, I have no easy answers. And I know I do each of you a disservice to say that I see both sides. If Methos raped you today, I would take his head off without a moment's hesitation. But it was thousands of years ago. It makes my heart weary to think that we can never be forgiven. That we can never change enough to atone for our past. Is that the truth of it to you? That we always carry our sins with us, like Sisyphus, doomed to push our past up a mountain only to have it roll down again?"

Cassandra set her chin mulishly.

"Surely, in your training, in your work with your goddess, forgiveness must play a role," Duncan insisted. He could only hope that Methos could forgive him for his merciless judgment of the old man.

"He manipulated you into killing Kronos. You heard him. He said he would go with the winner, like some high-priced whore. Do you really think if Kronos had won, if he'd taken your head, that Methos wouldn't have gone with him? He is a parasite, feeding off powerful Immortals, and he will be your death."

"I don't believe that. He's saved my life more times than I can say since I met him."

"Because he feeds off of you. If you die, he would have to find another."

For a sickening moment, Duncan almost believed it, could see what Cassandra was saying, could see Methos following Kronos, standing at his side, allowing Kronos to let the virus loose. But, thankfully, he immediately shook it away. What he'd seen was Methos' unshakable belief in Duncan. He knew Duncan would win. Not to mention that for two hundred years, Methos had kept clear of any Immortals.

"I choose to believe in the best of him and in the best of you. I believe he has changed, and he knew, together, we could take the other horsemen down, freeing him of a life that sickened him and that he found the strength to turn away from. And I believe that you are capable of forgiveness. I've seen the beauty inside of you, and this rage that you have allowed to fester for thousands of years is only hurting you."

"He gave me to Kronos," she cried.

"And he let you escape," Duncan responded. More memories in his head. Bad ones. "And Kronos made him pay. He beat Methos every day for months; killed him dozens of times. He let you escape knowing what it would cost him." Duncan also had memories in his head of Methos and Cassandra making love, of tender moments between them scattered amidst the harsher ones. He ignored how they made his gut tighten and his teeth grind. "He loved you in his way." He watched her, letting more memories play through his head. "And you loved him."

"What?" she demanded scathingly.

"You loved Methos. And he betrayed you."

"Yes," she spit out. "And he will betray you as well. He doesn't deserve your friendship."

"He was betrayed a thousand times. And yet, he left it back there. One of my teachers told me a parable. A monk and his student came upon a river. A woman was standing there, unsure how to cross. The monk lifted her up and carried her across, setting her down on the other side. As the monk and student walked on, the monk could see how unsettled his student was. 'You are troubled, my son?' he asked. 'Yes,' the student cried. 'It is against our vows to touch a woman and yet you not only touched a woman but carried her across the river. How can this be all right?' The monk said gently, 'Ah, but I left her at the edge of the river, and you are still carrying her.'"

Cassandra had tears in her eyes. "I do not understand how you can choose him over me."

"I choose you both. Or that would be my choice, to choose you both. You are both my friends, and I don't want either of you to die."

"But if you had to choose?" she said angrily.

"I don't want to choose." He put out his hand in invitation. "Help me find him. Let's do it together. Then we can find a way to put this behind us."

She spit on his hand. Then, like quicksilver, a seductive smile appeared on her face. "Duncan," she purred, pressing against him, "we can be together again, as we once were, before you met Methos. You can forget him."

Duncan recognized her attempt to use her voice on him and he shoved her away, making sure he kept his grip on the phone she had been trying to cadge away. "Do not use your wiles on me, witch," he said firmly. "You have one choice only. Come with me, help me save Methos, or if he dies, die on my sword."

"He will die a thousand deaths, and I will laugh at his pain!" she screeched at him. "I have seen to that."

"What do you mean?" Duncan questioned her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "What are you talking about?" Was she speaking of all the Immortals coming after him?

She wiggled away from his grip, taking several steps back. "You cannot save him. You are wasting your time."

Disgusted at her and at himself for his part in all of this, he turned and stalked away to his car. Methos was his first priority. Cassandra came after him but he turned and met her sword thrust with one of his own. "You cannot best me," he said. "Go and prepare for your own death." With that he sprinted for his car, leaving her holding her sword, screaming at him, as he drove away.

*****

Osiris found the entire affair laughable. The woman was ridiculous, too prey to her emotions. No matter; Osiris had no need of her. He had seen who had come to take Methos away, and he knew where they had taken him. It would take some planning but, in time, he would have his revenge on both Methos and Daniel Jackson. Convenient that they would now be in the same place.

*****

Duncan drove to Joe's bar. He supposed Cassandra might try to find him there, but he didn't plan to stay long, simply long enough to see what she was hiding on her phone in hopes it would lead him to Methos.

"Did you find him?" Joe called from behind the bar.

"Someone got to him first," Duncan answered.

Joe grabbed the bar to steady himself. "Good God, man, he's dead?"

"No, no, sorry, Joe. Someone took him from the hospital. He was still alive."

"Who would have taken him?"

"I have no idea, but I think there might be some answers here." He held up the phone.

"Your phone?"

"Cassandra's phone."

"She was there?" Joe asked in flinty tones.

"She was there," Duncan agreed. He moved to stand next to Joe and found the photo section of the phone. The first was the hospital.

"That King County?" Joe asked.

Duncan nodded, flipping to the next one. 

"Who's that?" Joe demanded. "Is that what it looks like?"

"Aye," Duncan said grimly. The length of the coat on the relatively warm day was enough to give it away, but Duncan could tell by the fall of the fabric that it held a sword.

The next picture made Duncan's eyes open wide. 

"Is that another one?" Joe bitched. "How did two Immortals just walk into that place?"

"I don't think security at that place was taken very seriously, but here's another mystery for you," Duncan said, "there was a quickening, but no dead body." He backed up the pictures until he saw some he'd passed by. A van parked outside the hospital, showing, as the pictures passed, three men and one woman getting out.

"Who are they?"

"I have no idea," Duncan replied. "I'm guessing they're the ones who took Methos." The four people entered the hospital. Duncan pressed past the ones of the two Immortals. The next few shots taken in rapid succession told the end of the story. The hospital staff had hold of two gurneys that were pushed out the front door. One of the gurneys was closely accompanied by the gray-haired man –military, Duncan thought –while the large black man stayed close to the other one. The woman hovered between them. The pads from the gurneys were placed in the back of the van. The large black man and the woman got into the back as well, while the gray-haired man got into the driver's seat. The next picture, and last, was of the van with a close up of the license plate.

Duncan went back to the picture of the men on stretchers, glad he could see attached heads on them. He didn't recognize the first man, the one the gray-haired man seemed so worried about. The other was curled on his side.

"Is that Methos?"

There just wasn't enough detail to be sure.

Joe slapped him on the arm. "Come on, I bet I have a jack so we can put those pictures on my computer. Lock the door and put up the closed sign."

Duncan did as instructed and then followed Joe into the back. By the time he got there, Joe had already done his magic, and he was zooming in on the second stretcher. Joe grinned half-heartedly. "I'd recognize that nose anywhere."

Duncan matched the grin. At least they knew Methos was alive. "Now all we have to figure out is who took him and why. And why no one knows about the dead decapitated body." None of them looked like Immortals. And why the military interest? That didn't bode well. "Can you hack some servers and get me the information I need, so I can rescue the old man?"

"I'll do my best," Joe said, and he turned to his computer with a determined glint in his eye. "Let's start with that license plate."

"Oh, and one of the nurses mentioned the name Daniel Jackson."

"Would that be her telephone number on your hand?" Joe asked dryly.

Duncan let out a frustrated huff, and strode to the bathroom to wash the rest of the numbers off.

*****

There was a long pause and then Hammond said, "Colonel."

"I know, sir, I know it. The mission went completely off the rails. All I could think of was to eliminate any remaining danger, and get rid of whatever damning evidence I could and get the hell out of there." Jack had decided to go for the truth. Daniel still wasn't awake, and he didn't want Daniel blabbing out the facts after Jack went to all the trouble of coming up with some terrific lie.

"Do we know who they were? Any idea?"

Jack winced and shook his head. "No, sir." He directed Hammond's eyes toward the screen. "Watch."

Hammond viewed the entire affair, as first one, then another, man came in, threatened their John Doe, allegedly Adam Pierson, the first of which Jack had zatted, the second of which Pierson had dispatched with alarming skill.

"He's frighteningly good at that," Hammond said. 

"Yes, sir, he is. And he tried to protect us." That had been much clearer this go around.

"What was that he yelled at the end there?"

"Teal'c said it was Goa'uld for 'Jaffa, protect'."

"And our mystery man hasn't woken up yet?" Hammond prodded.

"Well he has, on and off, but all that's coming out of his mouth is gibberish, and our gibberish expert is still mostly out of it," Jack said, then grimaced. "There's more."

Hammond sighed. "More?"

"This isn't my fault. It's our mystery man. Seems like his DNA isn't quite human. Janet says it doesn't die."

"Excuse me?"

"He can't die. He renews himself consistently. Janet says nothing could kill him."

Hammond watched the now stilled screen with the decapitated man on the floor. "Except losing his head?"

"Yeah, maybe. Or three zat blasts."

Hammond shot him an unhappy look. "Not your best mission, Colonel."

"Couldn't agree more."

"But you had a civilian down, and it was your primary mission to protect him at that point, so I understand why you made the decisions you did." He tapped a folder in front of him and pushed it toward Jack. "I believe we can reliably identify him as Adam Pierson. Here's a file on the man. As Dr. Jackson said, he is one of the world's premier linguists."

"Why don't we have him then?"

"We tried," Hammond said. "Read the notes."

Jack read the few terse and very frustrated pages. "He's a slippery one, isn't he?" He had to admire a guy who could somehow manage to never even have a conversation with several determined recruiters over several weeks.

"Managed to evade every telephone call, visit, and accidental meeting for two months. They finally gave up."

"Should have sent Daniel after him. He clearly liked him, both before and now."

Hammond smiled at that. "Our secret weapon, in more ways than one. Is he awake?"

"On and off. He'll be fine, sir, and once he is, I'm sure he and Pierson will be gabbing like a couple of long-lost twins. I'll tell him you asked about him."

Hammond stood up. "And Colonel, let's avoid any more decapitated bodies, please."

"Amen, sir."

*****

Methos sat straight up in bed, gasping. "Mac." Then it all rushed back, and he felt his sanity resting easy, all memories back where they belonged.

"Nope," Daniel said. He shooed away the guards who were shooting him looks of 'please don't ask me to leave as someone much more important than me will kill me if I'm not here when he gets back'; Daniel shooed them again. "I'm fine."

Methos had to bite back a grin. He bet Daniel led his military man on a merry chase.

One of the soldiers squared his shoulders and stayed put and the rest followed suit.

Daniel grumbled at them.

"You are all so lucky you didn't let him get his way," Jack snapped out.

The guards looked so relieved that Methos had to look at the sheets to keep from laughing out loud.

"And what are you laughing at?" Jack accused.

Startled, Methos glanced up to find Jack staring at him. "Yeah, you. I work with enough comedians to know what someone looks like when they're trying not to laugh. And you," he added to the soldiers, "Dismissed."

They left with alacrity.

Methos snickered at him and them. "Looks like you have everyone well trained," he said to Daniel. 

"I try," Daniel said, with a long-suffering glance at Jack.

Jack rolled his eyes and grabbed a chair, turning it around to sit backwards on it, arms crossed over the back. "So, let's talk. This is what I know. You're Adam Pierson. According to your public records you're in your late thirties, but my doc says you can't die, so who knows how old you are. Well, I say can't die, but I'm guessing losing your head might be the exception. Am I close?"

Methos looked around for exits.

Jack smiled tightly. "You're twenty-eight floors under the ground, under NORAD. Not going anywhere unless you can go invisible and walk through steel doors. Can you?"

Methos sighed. "No."

"Okay. Are you human? And don't give me crap about there being no such thing as aliens, because we know there are, and so do you, and I can show you the tape where you were speaking Goa'uld and discussing names of our alien enemies as if you'd just had a drink with them."

Crap. Methos' mind raced furiously, wondering what the fuck he did now. "Yes, I’m human." He'd start there. "More or less."

"Keep going." 

Methos found himself liking Jack, appreciating his no-bullshit style. He took a look at Daniel and found that Daniel was watching Jack with significant appreciation as well. Significant. His eyes were practically twinkling. "You should watch that," he said, hoping he might get some leverage.

"What?" Jack bit out.

"I meant him," Methos said, "the way he watches you. Well, the way you watch each other. I'm guessing the military here, even the one that deals with aliens, hasn't suddenly embraced alternative life styles."

Daniel reddened. "What?"

Jack, on the other hand, was now looking at Daniel speculatively. "Something you want to tell me, Daniel?"

"What? No?" He scowled at Methos, looking betrayed, as if a true fellow linguist would never, ever, have put him on the spot like that. Methos actually felt bad about it.

Jack snapped his fingers to get Methos' attention. "Listen, buddy," he said tensely, "you fuck with him, in any way, you go on my short list. And you don't want to be on my short list."

Methos believed that. He glanced at Daniel and smirked; Daniel was staring at Jack with stars in his eyes. Jack followed his gaze and Daniel blushed. 

"And you," Jack said to Daniel, "we'll be talking about this later." Then he winked at Daniel.

Daniel gasped, reddened even more until he looked like a tomato, gazed at Jack for a second under his eyelashes, and then he seemed to decide 'what the hell' and grinned.

Methos laughed out loud and found himself relaxing. It was ridiculous, but he trusted these men. His gut, despite the fact that he was in the hands of the military and they knew far too much about him, told him he was safe, and he'd learned to trust his gut. "Did you find my sword by any chance?"

"Teal'c found it," Jack said. "And no, you can't have it. I promise no one is coming for your head." 

"How old are you?" Daniel asked.

And for the first time in a long time, Methos told the truth. "Over five thousand years old."

Daniel's jaw dropped. "You were telling the truth, weren't you? You put Osiris and Isis in those canopic jars?"

Methos nodded. "I'm afraid to ask how you know about it. Are they out?"

"Osiris is," Daniel said with a sad smile. "He took over a friend of mine." 

Jack was better prepared and held out a picture. 

Methos took the picture and committed it to memory. "Isis?"

"Dead," Daniel said. 

"If Osiris is alive, he'll be coming for me," Methos told them. "And maybe an Immortal can't get in here, but the second I leave, he'll be coming for me. Shit, everyone will be coming for me."

"Why?"

"Long story," Methos began.

"The stories you must know," Daniel said, still gaping at Methos. "Wait, what's your real name?"

"Methos," Methos said, again telling the truth.

Daniel's jaw dropped again and he stood.

"Hey, hey, should you be standing?" Jack asked. "You just had a knife in your chest."

Daniel waved him off, like Jack had been talking about a mosquito bite.

Methos smirked again.

Jack shot him a narrow-eyed look. "Shut up." Then, "Daniel, where the hell are you going?" Then, "Hey, you, put him in a wheelchair and take him where he wants to go."

"Jack," Daniel complained.

"I'm not listening. You're like that freakin' knight from The Holy Grail."

One of the orderlies helped Daniel into a wheelchair and they sped out of sight.

"Why don't you work for us?" Jack asked. 

"I've spent too many years as a soldier and a slave. I don't really like to take orders anymore."

"Well," Jack said, "we're pretty much the only ones who can help protect you from Osiris, and you're the one who said you can't go back out there."

"Damn it," Methos said, but his heart wasn't in it. He was stuck in a corner, but as corners went, this one wasn't too bad. 

"You'll like it here," Jack said with false cheer. "I'm a great guy; you'll love taking orders from me. Well, actually, you'll be working for Daniel, who, as you can see, doesn't actually believe he works for me." 

Methos really liked this guy. If he'd had more commanding officers like this one, he might have spent more time in the military. 

"I wouldn’t have said anything about the two of you if we'd been in the middle of an officially recorded interview," Methos reassured him.

Jack snorted. "There isn't anyone on this base who doesn't think there's a 'two of us'. The real kicker is that there isn't."

Methos' eyes widened. "Why not? He's clearly interested."

"He must be on some new drugs. Up until right now, until you pointed it out, I've never had what I thought I was seeing confirmed." He smacked Methos on the arm. "So, thanks. I might get lucky now."

Methos burst out laughing again. "You're welcome."

"I need a lot more information from you," Jack said. "You think your head is unscrambled?"

"Yes. Too many quickenings at once. Lately it's been an all-you-can-eat Methos buffet." Methos didn't want to remember it.

"That's what the lightning shit was?"

Methos nodded. "All right with you if I make a phone call? I need to let someone know I'm all right."

"Sir," a woman's voice interrupted, "I need to speak with you."

"Give me a minute," Jack said to Methos. He got up and joined a very attractive short-haired blonde woman. "What's up, Carter?"

She took him aside, spoke urgently at him, and then Jack scowled at Methos. "This phone call you need to make? Any chance they might be trying to hack into this base?"

Methos covered his face, groaning. "Jesus, Joe."

*****

"Shit," Joe said. He started shutting down the computer. "Unplug it!"

Duncan wasn't sure what cord to unplug so he grabbed everything from the four plugs in sight and yanked. The computer made a complaining shriek and snap, the printer beeped loudly before silencing, and the room went dark as the lights snapped out. "What happened?"

"We need to get out of here," Joe said. "Now!" As fast as his prosthetic legs would take him, Joe grabbed his laptop and headed for the door.

Duncan took the laptop from him, and held the door open. "Where are we going?"

"Colorado."

*****

"The name Joe Dawson mean anything to you?" Jack asked Methos.

Methos nodded. "Good friend."

"Why's he hacking NORAD?"

"I'm guessing he's looking for me, but how he knew I was here, I have no idea."

"This day is gonna get me fired," Jack said, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I doubt that," Methos reassured him. He had a feeling this place would crumble without this guy at the helm. Methos could hardly wait to meet his boss, to see if he appreciated Jack the way he should. "Jack, he's a Viet Nam vet, and he's got double leg prostheses, so tell them to take it easy, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jack said and then barked some orders into the phone. He hung up and then asked, "This guy got a sword?"

"No. Another long story."

"Great. You and Daniel are gonna be best friends. You can tell each other your long stories so the rest of us can get some sleep."

Laughing again, Methos couldn't recall the last time he'd laughed so often at one time.

"And you won't be able to call him now; he's been shut down."

Methos was sorry about that. He'd have liked to tell Joe he was fine, and also tell him to stop worrying about who was after him. 

"Colonel O'Neill?" a soldier called from the door.

"What?" Jack said irascibly. "And do not tell me there's someone with a sword looking for me."

The soldier looked justifiably confused, but then said, "Dr. Jackson would like you and Dr. Pierson to come to his lab."

Jack's eyes looked up as if summoning strength. "Thanks." He glanced at Methos. "My master calls. Can you walk?" Then he noticed what Methos was wearing. "Come on, locker room first."

*****

Twenty minutes later they walked into Daniel's lab. Daniel did a double take at Methos dressed in BDUs. "You recruited him already?" he asked Jack.

"I didn't think he should walk through the hallway with his ass hanging out," Jack pointed out. "You already do that enough."

"I do not," Daniel said.

"Twice," Jack countered. "Copies of the security tape were going for a couple thousand each."

"They were not!"

Jack nodded at Methos. "They were. I bought them all."

Methos loved these guys. A sudden longing for the days when he teased Mac like this stabbed at him mercilessly. 

Daniel, ignoring Jack, handed Methos some gloves. "This is what I wanted to show you." He encouraged Methos to join him, and when Methos saw what Daniel was showing him he let out a gasp. "I thought it was lost."

"It's yours, isn't it?"

Methos nodded, gingerly touching the papyrus cover.

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"It's a journal I found on one of my trips to Egypt. It's a diary written over 4500 years ago, by a man named Methos."

Jack squinted at Methos. "Are you really that old?"

"Yup."

"I get that you're technically immortal, but that's a lot of years keeping your head on."

"I'm good," Methos said honestly. "And I cheat."

Jack grinned. "I like that in a guy, as long as he's on my side." 

"I'm sorry for what Osiris did to you," Daniel said, his eyes very kind.

His gentle expression made Methos' eyes sting. "Me, too."

"I have so many questions to ask you," Daniel said, now staring at Methos like he was Santa with a bag full of presents. Methos could also see that Daniel looked exhausted; his shoulders were sagging, and he was perspiring.

"Janet is going to find you," Jack told Daniel, "and she is going to stick you with so many needles, they'll come out the other side."

"I’m fine," Daniel protested.

"You're really not," Jack and Methos said together.

"Ha!" Jack said. "Finally someone on my side."

"I hate you both."

"Go back to the infirmary. Methos is coming with me to talk to Hammond. Chances are he'll be sticking around for a while so you'll have plenty of time to bore him to death with your questions."

Daniel frowned, but Methos grinned nicely at him. "I'll be glad to answer your questions, Daniel."

"Thank you," Daniel said primly, with a lethal glare at Jack.

"Dr. Jackson," Janet said sternly, standing in the doorway to Daniel's lab, hands on her hips. 

"I'm coming." Daniel carefully closed the glass case, securing the book away. "Feel free to come in here and look at anything you want," he graciously told Methos. "It's never locked."

Methos guessed it was because everyone on base knew better than to mess with anything of Daniel's because Jack would kill them and bury them in a deep hole. "Thank you," he said, meaning it. He had already seen a dozen things in this office that had piqued his interest. He could spend days in here, happily. Months. Years. Suddenly a job here didn't seem such a bad idea, and if he never left here, he'd be free of the game. Well, the Immortal side of it. Osiris was a different problem.

"Oh, and here," Daniel said, gesturing toward a back table. "That's yours, right?"

There was his Ivanhoe, ready to be reclaimed. He glanced at Jack, who frowned. "Let's leave it here for the time being."

Methos felt naked without it, but there were guns a plenty all around him, so it wasn't like he couldn't protect himself. He nodded and then followed Jack out the door.

*****

Osiris watched in satisfaction as the Stargate team knelt on the floor in front of him. Each had a Jaffa behind them, pushing down on their shoulders, keeping them in a proper position of supplication.

He walked by each one, studying them, lifting the chin of the last one to take a closer look. His eyes shot a determined refusal to give anything else up to his captor. Osiris would remember this one when it came time to choose the first sacrifice. "Put them with the others," he said, dismissing them. They were nothing except a means to an end. 

*****

"Colonel O'Neill seems to think you could be of help to us," Hammond said. "Tell me about some of the things you've done that would allow you to assist us in our endeavors."

"To be honest, sir, there's not much I haven't done." Methos considered the man. He liked him already, recognizing a kindred spirit who could run a place like this with an iron fist, yet allow a treasure like Jack O'Neill to run around like a loose cannon. "I’m a linguist, firsthand knowledge of most languages. I have multiple PhDs in several subjects."

"Such as?"

"History, several of those, archeology, geology, physics, mathematics, music, literature, medicine. Well, that's an MD, but still. Oh, and a couple of law degrees. I've led wars, caused a couple. I'm at expert at torture, getting and receiving." He watched their faces, deciding he'd tell the truth this time before it blew up in his face as soon as he thought he'd found a home. "I spent a thousand years on a killing spree and have been atoning for it ever since."

"You lived through some of the most bloody times on this Earth," Hammond said, disturbed, but not without some compassion in his tone. "I don't believe we'd find anyone who lived as long as you without a time embracing war and death. Do you?"

Methos slowly shook his head, feeling something deep, deep inside that always expected to be rebuffed, start to unwind. "No."

"You don't plan to do that again, do you?" Jack asked, half teasing, half deadly serious.

"No," Methos said again. "Never again. And if, somehow, for some reason, I did, I'd expect you to take my head."

"Fair enough," Jack said. 

Methos saw Jack and Hammond exchange a glance, and he relaxed even more. It was funny, he thought, how Mac had been a man of war, for centuries, yet had no sense of what war was beyond glory and honor, but these men, who were children, understood the darkness of war and what it made you do or forced you to become. And he knew they both understood that there was a place for darkness, for people who could make the hard and terrible decisions.

"All that I am and know," Methos said to them, "I put to your service."

"You understand that if you stay here with us, your secret will become known," Hammond cautioned him. "I have to tell the President and the Chiefs of Staff. I can't offer this program as a sanctuary, or take on a new 'employee' without permission."

Methos wasn't worried about that. He knew he'd be allowed to stay. All modestly aside, he was too valuable, and would make himself even more valuable, for the program to let him go. And even though he'd just met Hammond, he trusted him. It was incredible that he had found someplace where he could be valuable. Useful. He felt a wild, unfettered joy in his chest, something he hadn't felt since Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod took one look at him and, seeing right to the heart of him, spoke his name. Hopefully this would work out better.

"How do you know Osiris?" Jack asked, breaking into his reverie.

"I stumbled into him, and his lover Tefnut, and Set, when I was living in Egypt, a very long time ago. Four thousand years? Maybe a little longer. I thought they were Gods." He shrugged. "It was a time of Gods, in fact, nothing happened in anyone's life that wasn't a gift of or a punishment from the Gods."

"They thought they were Gods too," Jack said dryly.

Methos smiled tightly. "Yes, they did. I served them for a while. Happily at first, feeling blessed that I had been found acceptable to the Gods and allowed to be in their presence." He let out a soft mirthless laugh. "They were not kind Gods." They had killed indiscriminately, and cruelly, and all the slaves had walked on tiptoes around their angry Gods.

"And then?" Hammond prompted.

"Osiris' mate's host was dying, and the decision was made, without my consent, that I would take his place. I didn't understand at first; I thought they meant that I would attend upon Osiris in his bed. I had removed enough corpses from his bedchamber to be less than thrilled with the opportunity."

Jack winced.

"But then," Methos said, "I was kneeling before Osiris, and this thing, this snake creature, burst out of Tefnut, squealing and writhing in Osiris' hand, and he released it at me. It was then that I understood, that these bodies I'd been serving were only bodies, that what was driving them were these things, and they weren't humans, and they weren't Gods. They were evil, and nothing that belonged here on Earth."

"And?" Jack asked this time, riveted.

"I could feel it clawing itself in, could feel its malevolence and sensed its intention to devour me until all that was left would be this thing controlling my body. But then it stopped. It let out this scream, a death cry; it almost deafened me. Then it fell from my neck to the floor, dead."

"Why?" Hammond asked.

"I'm not sure. I think maybe because I was an Immortal. Maybe my DNA rejected it, I don't know." To be honest, Methos hadn't cared at the time, because all he'd known after that for a long time was pain.

He saw another look pass between Hammond and Jack, as Methos' value to them rose even higher. He was someone who could not be taken by the enemy.

"Osiris wasn't pleased," Methos said ruefully. 

"No, I can imagine he wasn't," Hammond said, strong compassion in his eyes this time, as if he understood exactly what had happened next. "How long did it take you to escape?"

"Too long. Years. Osiris loved slowly torturing me to death and then he'd wait for me to revive to start all over. When he had other things to do, he'd hand me over to someone else."

Jack grimaced. "I don't blame you for going on a killing spree. Just wished you'd gone after the Goa'uld."

Methos found himself grinning. "Just point me at them."

Smirking in return, Jack said, changing subjects, "So you really can't die?"

"We can die," Methos said. "We just don't stay dead." He put his hand out. "Give me your knife."

Jack slid it over without a moment's hesitation. Methos slit his forearm open to the bone.

Hammond and Jack both gasped, but then grew silent as Methos' quickening flickered over the wound, watching as in under a minute, the skin was healed over. Methos slid the knife back to Jack.

"That is extraordinary," Hammond said, sitting back, looking stunned.

"I apologize for changing the subject, but have you heard from my friend, Joe Dawson?"

"He the one we're trying to track down?" Jack inquired.

Methos nodded. "He's a good friend. One of the few I have. Maybe the only real one I have. And bear in mind that he'd be an asset here."

"Let's start with you," Jack said, "and no. He's slippery; we haven't managed to find him yet."

Methos snickered.

"What's so funny, old man?" Jack asked him.

Another pang of missing MacLeod washed though him. How long would it take, he wondered, before he stopped yearning for the man? He was like Joe and his phantom pain keeping him up all night long. Brushing the sadness away, he said, "I taught him everything I know."

"Terrific," Jack said.

"Maybe you could help us find him," Hammond suggested. "With his disabilities, being on the run can't be very comfortable for him."

Methos had thought of that, wondering if Joe had even had the time to take off his legs. He'd develop sores at this rate. 

Hammond dismissed them, and Jack led him to a conference room with several computers, where the woman named Carter was sitting along with several other people he didn't know.

"This is Me…"

"Adam Pierson," Methos interrupted him.

Without losing a beat, Jack continued, "Adam Pierson," he told Carter. "He's on our side, maybe permanently. The guy you're looking for is a good friend of his, and he's going to help us find him."

Carter smiled at him, taking Jack at his word, something Methos appreciated. "Sam Carter. Welcome aboard." She gestured around the room. "Bill Lee, Lieutenant Roger Asigan, and Walter Harriman."

Methos smiled at them. "What have you got?"

They showed him what they'd found and Methos started to laugh.

"What?" Jack said, from where he'd been leaning against the door jamb, watching.

"He's heading here."

"I agree, sir," Carter said. "We knew he was heading in this direction, we just weren't sure of his final destination. But if the person we're following is after Adam here, then it makes sense this is his final destination."

"Should we be worried?" Jack asked Methos.

Methos wasn't sure. "He probably won't be alone." Methos didn't think he could have made it here on his own, which meant Mac was probably with him.

"Another one of those whackjobs who want to take your head?"

Carter and the other three looked suitably startled by that question.

Did Mac want his head? Methos didn't know. "Maybe."

"Swell." Jack turned to leave then spun back. "What do you want to do?"

"Meet with them."

"Both of them?" Jack asked.

Methos nodded. 

"I’m not letting him cut your head off."

"Much appreciated. He won't. Not here."

"You sure about that?"

Methos nodded again. "I'm sure. If it's who I think it is, he's too much of a boy scout to ever put mortals at risk."

That got another askance glance from the people sitting around the table. Methos stood, not wanting to explain. "I think I'll go to Daniel's office, if that's okay."

"Sure," Jack said. "But if Daniel's there, send him back to the infirmary."

Chuckling, Methos said, "I'll do my best.

*****

"I don't understand," Joe said. "What does the military want with him?"

Duncan didn't want to think about it. He had visions of Methos laid out on a table in a lab. "I don't know."

"And how the hell are we supposed to get in there? In case it escaped your notice," Joe snapped, "that door is about three feet thick and there are a dozen guards down there."

They had managed to circumvent security and were hiding themselves in the woods to the side of the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain. 

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"And why do you want in?" Joe asked him, asking the question Duncan had been grimly anticipating. "I thought you hated him. Are you using me to get to him so you can take his head? Because if you are, you can forget it."

"No, Joe," Duncan gasped out. "No. Never." He dropped his head. "I was wrong, okay? As soon as you told me he was being hunted, I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"What he meant to me. What I'd…" He shook his head. "That doesn't matter. What does matter is that I get it. I get that that was then, and this is now, and I forgive him."

"You sanctimonious prude," Joe snapped. "It's not your place to forgive him."

"Quiet," Duncan hissed, glancing down to see if Joe's outburst had been overheard.

Joe looked properly abashed. "Sorry."

Duncan put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "I know I let you down. I let him down. But he played a part in this. He should have told me. He should have trusted me. When I asked him about it, he threw it in my face, making it sound as if he'd just finished slaughtering the next town over. He was gleeful about it."

When Joe went to speak, Duncan stopped him. "I understand now that he was protecting himself and probably me, too, trying to make me leave, but right then, it was all I could do not to punch that awful grin off his face. And he set me up to kill Kronos. He willfully manipulated me without once doing me the courtesy of explaining what was going on. He flaunted his relationship with Kronos in front of me."

"What are you maddest about?" Joe asked, a speculative look in his eyes, "Being manipulated, or seeing him with a rival for his attention?"

Refusing to answer, Duncan said, "For all of that, Joe, it is my place whether to forgive or not, and I do. Even if I am going to throttle him next time I see him."

A smile slowly formed on Joe's face. "You've got it bad, don't you, Mac?"

"Shut up."

*****

"Right there," Carter said, pointing out the two hidden bodies in the scrub.

Annoyed they'd gotten that far without setting off security, Jack was also impressed. "Okay, I'm going out to get them."

"Are you sure it's safe?"

"I've got what they want," Jack said practically. Even if the other guy, Duncan MacLeod, was after Methos' head, he'd still have to get to the old guy. He left Carter, and fifteen minutes later he was being let out the front door. 

He ignored the surprised salutes, and kept walking until he was right beneath the spot Carter had shown him. Jack couldn't see them from here, but it was all he had. "Joe Dawson? Duncan MacLeod? You up there?"

The bushes stirred. Jack bit back a grin, tickled he'd startled them. He bet the old man wouldn't have moved a muscle. Jack liked Methos; he was a kindred spirit. 

There was no response.

Jack tried again. "Joe Dawson? I know you're up there. I have a friend of yours here who's been worried about you. I think he'd feel better if he could see you." He took a few steps back, looking up.

"What are you doing with him?" a man called down. "Why is he here?"

That got the attention of all the soldiers on duty and they all leapt into actions, guns up ready for business.

Jack sneered at them. Jesus Christ, had they all been humoring him before? Oh, look, it’s the crazy colonel, just ignore him. "They've been up there for a while, you know. Nice job. Put your guns down."

Shamefaced, they all obeyed.

"I'm not doing anything to him. Come down." He had a thought. "Can you? Do you need some help?"

He heard some scrambling, then a muttered, "Let go of me, I'm going down there." Then a louder, "No, I don't need any help." Then another muttered, "Mac, I'm going down. I want to see Methos." There was a heavy sigh then two faces looked down at Jack. 

One was an older man with graying hair, full cheeks and a beard, and Jack would have bet his boots that was Joe Dawson. The other man was very good looking, dark hair pulled back, with classic movie-star looks. "Hi, good to meetcha. Colonel Jack O'Neill, with two Ls."

"If you've done anything to hurt him," the older guy started.

Jack rolled his eyes. "What? What will you do?" He gestured behind him. "Do you want to see him or what?"

Joe struggled to his feet, Duncan trying to assist him, Joe fighting him off with a snarl. They made a long tortuous descent, Duncan at the man's side, pointing out places Joe could fall, each comment making the guy angrier. Jack could like a guy like this. He wasn't at all surprised he and Methos were friends. He wasn't sure about the other guy yet.

When they were finally standing in front of him, Jack looked at Duncan. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, I'm assuming?"

"Aye," Duncan said.

Jack considered him. "You here to take his head?"

Duncan's eyes widened and he took a step back. "No, never."

"He wasn't sure. He's not sure if you're a friend or not." Jack could see the comment stung. Duncan's eyes left his and he stared at the ground, his hands fisting.

"I am," Duncan finally said.

"Give me your sword," Jack said.

"No."

"Then you're not coming in." He held out his hand to Joe Dawson. "Mr. Dawson, glad to meet you. You've led us on an impressive chase." He shook the man's hand. "You're welcome inside. The old man's waiting for you."

"He told you?" Joe asked, looking doubtful. "Of his own free will?"

Jack noticed that Duncan didn't look happy at this news.

"That and a lot more. We like the guy."

Joe grinned. "That's because you just met him. Give him a while and he'll drive you up a wall, and you won't know whether to hug him or kill him."

Jack snickered. "I can believe that." He turned to the soldiers. "Please escort that guy," and he jerked a thumb at Duncan, "off the base. And don't let him back on."

Duncan drew his sword. Guns were up and the din of two dozen rifles being cocked at the same time created a rhythmic tympani. Jack put up his hand to stop anyone from firing.

Duncan considered his sword, and then he turned it around and handed it to Jack, hilt first.

Jack took it.

"Be careful; it's sharp."

Jack could see that. Admiring it, he said, "Nice." He handed it to a soldier. "Get this to Dr. Jackson's office." He saw Duncan start to move in anger, and Jack turned to him, stopping him. "That's where Adam will be. That way he'll know you're coming. Besides, I don't want to accidentally cut my hand off."

Duncan glared at him.

Jack had no idea what Methos saw in this one. No sense of humor at all. 

*****

Fuming over the loss of his sword, and angry at the presumption of this Colonel to try to protect Methos from him, and despondent at the idea that Methos might think he needed protection from him, Duncan was on unsteady emotional ground as he followed Joe and the colonel into Cheyenne Mountain. 

It wasn't until they'd gotten through the fourth security checkpoint that he began to realize that this might be a trap. That Methos might be in restraints, being tortured for information about Immortals, and Duncan was about to be strapped in next to him. 

"We almost there yet?" Joe asked.

"Yup." Colonel O'Neill entered an elevator and, once all three were on, he nodded at the attendant solider, who pushed the number twenty-eight. A moment later the elevator was moving down.

Duncan could feel O'Neill's eyes on him. He noticed that the colonel didn't seem to be wearing any weapons, but the soldier was. Of course, if Duncan attempted to shoot anyone here, he'd never leave this place alive. Duncan put his hands behind his back, pushing back the urge to grab a gun just to have one on his person. Methos would be so proud at the impulse.

The elevator door opened and O'Neill gestured for them to get out. "I don't mean to sting your pride, but we've still got a walk ahead of us. Do you want a wheelchair?" he asked Joe.

"No," Joe said, scowling. "I don't need a damn wheelchair."

Duncan felt ashamed that all this time as they were running from Washington to Colorado, he'd only given momentary thought to Joe's condition. The man was so good at defying his own handicap that it was easy to forget. "Joe," he said, about to add his own weight to the colonel's suggestion.

"Forget it," Joe snapped. "Where is he?"

O'Neill's lips tightened at the same time a grudging look of respect crossed his face. "This way." 

They walked through what seemed like endless corridors until O'Neill came to a door with a sign on it that said: Dr. Daniel Jackson. He pushed the door open.

Behind the desk, eyes focused and his attention deep in some parchment paper, was Methos. Looking fine. Looking happy. It lit a fuse of ire in Duncan and when he saw his sword on the back table lying next to Methos', he lunged for it, swinging it down until it rested against Methos' neck. 

"Let it go," O'Neill ordered from behind him. "Now." Duncan had no doubt that a weapon was aimed right at him.

Methos looked up at him, not even doing him the courtesy of flinching. "Are you after my head, or are you just pissed off?"

"Pissed off," Duncan said through gritted teeth.

"Then put the sword away before someone shoots you." Methos cautiously stood, moving away from the sword and came around the desk, pushing right past Duncan. "Joe. You look like hell."

"Thanks to you," Joe said grumpily, but he was grinning.

Methos gave him a hug, then pulled back to glare at him. "Sit down."

"I’m fine," Joe bit out.

"Bullshit." Methos grabbed the closest chair and pushed Joe, carefully, down onto it. 

Joe grumbled but Duncan, who had turned to watch, could see the look of acute relief in his eyes. "It's good to see you, old man," Joe said to Methos.

"It's good to be seen," Methos said, his hand fondly on Joe's shoulder. 

"Methos," Duncan said, regretting his earlier impulse, and wondering how the hell to get out of the doghouse he'd put himself in. He slipped his sword into the sheath in his coat.

Methos turned to him, eyes wary. "Present and accounted for."

Impulsively, Duncan reached for Methos, pulling him into a hug. "Christ, I've missed you. Can you forgive me?"

Methos stiffened in his arms for a long excruciating moment, but then he relaxed, his arms coming out to embrace Duncan, his face hidden in the join of Duncan's neck and shoulder. "Can you forgive me?" Methos asked softly.

Methos' breath against his neck caused an unexpectedly delicious shiver to skitter down Duncan's spine. He pressed himself closer, even as he pulled his head back so he could see Methos' face, see his extraordinary hazel-golden eyes, his constant smirk, that distinctive nose. See that face that had been on Duncan's mind from the moment he'd first laid eyes on him. "Methos," Duncan said and then, abruptly, and without thought, he kissed him.

He hadn't meant to kiss him at all, and when his lips touched the old man's, he told himself it would be a quick kiss, something shared between kinsmen, but one touch of his lips to Methos' and something fundamental shifted in him. Forgotten was the audience, forgotten was the fact that they were deep underground in a military complex where kissing another man would be frowned upon, forgotten was any trace of the anger and disappointment he'd harbored towards his friend.

"Methos," he said again, groaned again, his hands cradling Methos' face, while he pressed him against the desk, a thigh moving between Methos', where he could feel the beginning of an answering hardness to match his own. Methos' fingers were tight in Duncan's hair, holding on as tight as Duncan was, as if he couldn't stand the thought of letting go either.

"Hey," a voice yelled.

Duncan ignored it. His tongue swept inside Methos' mouth, exploring, tasting, wondering why in hell he'd wasted so much time.

"Hey!" several voices yelled.

Methos pulled back, his face flushed, lips swollen from Duncan's kisses, which prompted a very possessive thrill in Duncan's soul.

"I sure didn't see that coming," Joe said.

"Me, either," Jack agreed.

"Me, either," Methos said softly to Duncan, staring wonderingly, his hands slipping out of Duncan's hair, one landing on Duncan's hip, the other grazing Duncan's face, the back of his fingers caressing a cheek. "Hello, Mac," he said, a grin starting to form.

Duncan grinned helplessly in return. "Hello, Methos. You okay?"

"Thanks to Jack and Daniel and the rest of the folks here."

Sending a swift look the colonel's way, Duncan's gaze returned to Methos. "I heard you were being challenged."

Methos' eyes closed for a moment and, when they opened, Duncan could see the deep weariness. "It was close, Mac, really close." His mouth crooked into a grin and he added, "Thanks for coming after me. Both of you." He included Joe in that.

"Something you guys want to tell me?" Joe drawled, gesturing at how they were still plastered together. 

Duncan reluctantly stepped away, glad to see the same unwillingness in Methos' eyes. His heart lightened as he saw the small smirk on Methos' lips. Duncan wanted to lick them.

"Jack," Methos said, "this is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, and he is an Immortal like me. This is Joseph Dawson, a good friend, and another long story, although I can reassure you that the man can keep secrets. Mac and Joe, I'd like to introduce a good new friend, name of Jack O'Neill."

Jack rolled his eyes. "We've met."

"I know, but I'd like to start over and have us all get along," Methos suggested.

"Okay, Tiny Tim," Jack said. "Daniel's gonna be pissed he missed that greeting." He snickered. "Nice one."

Duncan smiled as Methos actually blushed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen that reaction. Maybe when he'd met Alexa. For a moment, as it did every now and then, the reality of how long Methos had lived overwhelmed him. How did Methos do it? Still have the ability to fall in love, to make new friends, to enjoy the simpler things of life. Considering how many regrets Duncan already had, memories that tortured his soul and kept him awake at night, how was Methos not insane?

"What is this place, by the way?" Joe asked. "And do we get to leave?"

"You in a hurry?" Methos asked him.

"I just want to know this isn't a one-way trip."

"It isn't," Methos asked, "although you might want to stay."

Duncan frowned at him. "What does that mean?" Duncan wasn't leaving this place without him.

Methos smiled ruefully at him. "They still know I'm alive. I go back out there, I'll be challenged everywhere I go. Cassandra made sure of that."

"You can't stay here, underground," Duncan challenged, appalled. Never to see the sun again? 

Methos turned to the Colonel and put his hands out in a 'what now' gesture. "You have some decisions to make."

"I need to talk to Hammond," Jack said sourly. "Dawson was right, old man, you are nothing but trouble." But he belied his words with an affectionate look that made Duncan seethe.

Methos' hand settled on his back, as if to calm a frisky horse. Annoyingly, Duncan felt himself settle down, reassured by the touch.

"Go introduce them to Daniel," Jack continued. "I'm sure he's heard the rumors already. In fact," Jack looked down the corridor, "I'm surprised he's not already here."

Methos chuckled. "Me, too." He kept his hand on Duncan's back.

Duncan wanted to jump the man. He could still taste him in his mouth, could remember the warmth from all the places they'd been pressed together.

"Later," Methos whispered, as he went to help Joe up, ignoring the Watcher's complaints about not needing assistance. Duncan had to think horrible thoughts to gain control of his body.

*****

Daniel Jackson, another multiple PhDer, or at least that's how Methos had introduced him a short while ago, grinned up at Duncan from his infirmary bed. "I heard there was kissing."

This time it was Duncan's cheeks that reddened. He could hear Methos talking to Joe behind a pulled infirmary bay curtain at the back of the room, as Methos checked out Joe's stumps, sounding as if he'd done it before, something that startled Duncan. Methos: a never-ending fount of surprises. "Aye," Duncan finally got out. 

Daniel chuckled at him. "Methos' eyes looked a little glazed when he walked in here." More seriously, he added, "And he looked happier, so thanks for that."

How had Methos found himself a fan club at a top-secret military installation so quickly? Duncan thought Methos was more cat than man, with the skill of always landing on his feet. 

Although it had been close, both with the challenges before Methos had lost himself, and after he'd been hospitalized. Daniel had told Duncan about the King County General Hospital debacle, with two Immortals coming for Methos' head. What if these men hadn't been there? "What happened to the bodies?"

Daniel waved that away. "We know people." Then he grinned again. "How old are you?"

"A little over 400 years."

"Unbelievable. I have so many questions to ask both of you, I don't know where to start. And Methos? Since the dawn of time. The things he's seen, the things he's lived through."

"It hasn't all been easy," Duncan warned. He didn't want Methos' past to cause problems. The old man had already had to put up with Duncan's anger and disappointment, as well as Cassandra's bloodthirsty need for revenge.

"I know. He told us some of it. After all, it wasn't really until the fourteenth or fifteenth century that there were sufficient pockets of civilization, places where art and music and philosophy flourished, so he could move from one to the next and not be observed not to age. Not that there weren't moments in earlier history, of course, in Greece, and Egypt, for example, but most of the world was a place of barbarism, a world filled with fear, and greed, consumed by a vicious fight for power."

Daniel glanced over at the closed curtain where Methos was giving Joe crap and Joe was giving it right back. The affection between them was clear in every word. Daniel smiled and continued. "Even when the written word became commonplace there were still plagues, and inquisitions, and witch hunts, and he must have been forced to be vigilant every moment to avoid notice, not to stand out. He had to fail sometimes and pay steeply for it. And yet there he is. Funny and caring, someone I could so easily call a friend." Daniel looked up at Duncan. "And there you are and while you are certainly much younger, I'm sure you've had tremendous strife and loss in your life as well."

Duncan acknowledged that with a nod.

"I don't understand why you feel the need to decapitate each other, though," Daniel said with a frown. "Is that really necessary?"

"At the end, there can be only one."

"Why?"

"It's the way it is," Duncan said. "The game. When there are only a few left, we will be compelled to gather and fight until only one remains."

"I don't buy that. You have no self determination? Either you or Methos have to die? Why bother? If everyone mortal you know will die, and every Immortal you know will die, why bother?"

Duncan didn't want to answer that one. Not least because it was quite likely it might end up being him and Methos at the end. "I don't understand it completely," he admitted. "Nor do I like it."

Methos walked over to them, Joe's prostheses in hand.

"Is Joe okay?" Duncan asked.

"Dozing." To Daniel he said, "I need to get these cleaned. Is there someplace to do that?"

"Janet can get that done," Daniel said. He called over a nurse, explained the situation, and Methos handed over the prostheses.

At that moment, Jack strode in. He handed two inch-high stacks of paper to Duncan. "For you and Dawson. Sign your life away and then we can talk."

"Joe's sleeping," Methos said.

"No, I'm not," Joe said.

Methos rolled his eyes. He grabbed a wheelchair and rolled it back to the bay. With some grumbling, Joe transferred to the wheelchair and then, pushing at the wheels, propelled himself over to where Duncan stood. "What am I signing?"

Duncan handed him a stack. "Confidentiality forms." He'd already started looking his over. "Did you already sign them?" he asked Methos.

Methos shook his head, glancing at Jack. "What about me?"

Jack waved him off. "We'll take care of you later."

Duncan frowned at that.

"By the way," Jack said to Daniel, "Janet said I could spring you if I took you home with me."

In response, Daniel almost leapt out of bed. "I need to get some work done first and then we can go."

"Yeah, no. Rules were I take you home now." He glanced at Methos. "Think you could do a preliminary explanation about what's going on to your friends? Daniel will do an official, torturously long lecture on everything tomorrow, complete with a PowerPoint presentation."

"Hey!" Daniel protested.

Methos nodded. "I don't know everything."

"You know the gist," Jack said.

"I'll throw in a few extra hundred graphs, just for you, Jack," Daniel said, oh-so-sweetly.

Someone walked into the infirmary, and Jack gestured at him. "This here is Sergeant Athers. He'll show you to your quarters."

"I really need to go to my office," Daniel argued.

"You really don't," Jack countered. "You go home with me now, or you stay here another night." To Athers, he said, "Show them where the mess hall is, too." To Methos he said, with an apologetic shrug, "No room service."

"I'll complain to the management," Methos said.

Jack winked at Methos, surprising a quick laugh out of him; Duncan glared at Jack, aborting a grab for his sword. And with that, Jack left, towing a complaining Daniel behind him, as Athers walked the other way, checking to make sure Methos, Duncan, and Joe were following him.

*****

Jack didn't let go of Daniel until he marched him into the front door of his house and shut it behind them. 

"Why didn't you just handcuff me?" Daniel groused, pulling away and scowling at Jack.

"Just wanted to make sure you didn't slip away. I know how slippery you can be."

"I still don't know why you didn't let me at least get some work to bring home before we left."

"Daniel," Jack said, pushing him, back first, against the door.

"Stop being so pushy," Daniel insisted.

"No," Jack said, stepping in close, pressing himself against Daniel. He watched closely, waiting for his friend, soon to be his lover if he had anything to say about it, to catch a clue. Daniel was a genius, but he could be dumber than mud sometimes.

Anger flashed in Daniel's eyes, and Jack just waited. He knew Daniel had an instinctive dislike of bullies, and Jack was acting just like one, at least on the outside. Come on Daniel, Jack thought to himself. Figure it out. He supposed he could have gone the seduction route, turned the lights down low, put on some music, made a dinner heavily laden with aphrodisiacs, but somehow, and he trusted his instincts with Daniel, Jack knew that was the wrong approach for their first time.

He almost laughed when he saw the facts start to sink in. And still Jack watched.

"Now?" Daniel asked, his voice almost squeaking.

Jack barely nodded his head in the affirmative.

A look of complete disbelief crossed Daniel's face and Jack wondered if he'd been reading it all wrong for years. The doubt only lasted a second and Jack just hung in there, enjoying the sensation of Daniel's body against his without injuries being the reason they were so close.

And there it was, the look Jack had been waiting for. It was similar to the one Daniel got on his face when he was about to taunt a Goa'uld, shades of a berserker, scholastic style, but this one didn't have the resignation and anger in it. Maybe a touch of anger, but Daniel would work that out nice and quick. And just that nice and quick, Jack found himself against the door, Daniel leaning into him, his mouth devouring Jack's as if he had to make up for all the years of not kissing right this fucking second.

Jack kissed back, dealing with his own share of disbelief. Fucking finally. 

It was Daniel who said it, though. "Fucking finally," he breathed into Jack's mouth.

Jack grinned, getting a kick out of the cussing, hands running down Daniel's back until he got a handful of ass. He'd been wanting to grab that ass for years. Fucking years. Daniel groaned and pressed a lovely length of hardened cock against Jack's thigh. Something snapped in Jack, and he was filled with an urgent need to taste Daniel. He sank to his knees and, used to his own BDUs, had Daniel's pants and underwear falling to his ankles in seconds, and then his mouth was full of Daniel's cock.

He was at a banquet; an all you can smell, taste, and hear banquet. Daniel was swearing in some language probably only Methos could understand, his cock was growing ever larger in Jack's mouth, and the smell of Daniel surrounded him: musky with a hint of sweat and the mineral ground water pumped through all twenty-eight floors under the mountain, and beneath it all the aroma of eau-de-Daniel.

Jack had smelled that scent for years. Gotten close to it when Daniel was hurt, or when they were huddled for warmth, or hiding together in a tight space but, up until now, Jack had had to make do with the barest tease. Not this barrage of all things Daniel.

Daniel rallied quickly and, with a hint of a feral smile on his face, he began to fuck Jack's mouth. No softness about this, no finesse. Just rutting and it was perfect. There'd be time for all the romance in the world, but right now this was what they needed to get from here to there. No time to talk, no time for Daniel to over-think things, to worry about Jack and his career, how it might affect the team, would it hurt Carter's feelings, make Teal'c less willing to follow Jack's orders, and a ton of other bullshit that would stop this train before it got out of the station. All that had to happen was the sex that had been waiting way too long to take place.

Jack swallowed, taking Daniel in deeper, watching as Daniel's pupils blew as he grabbed Jack's hair, holding his head still as he took his pleasure from Jack's mouth, grunting interspersed with an occasional word, still mostly in languages Jack couldn't translate. Not that he didn't understand, he did; he totally got what Daniel was trying to say. 

He reached up to massage Daniel's balls, pressing his finger behind them, an impromptu external prostate massage, and that was all she wrote. Daniel almost pulled out Jack's hair as he came in Jack's mouth, hunching over, almost keening as he jetted out his climax.

And as Daniel's cock softened, so did Daniel, and he sank to his knees, and kissed Jack with love instead of lust, with the surety of a years-long friendship, instead of scratching an itch, and Jack drank it all in, holding Daniel close, his nose buried in Daniel's neck, breathing him, remembering holding him like this a long time ago when Daniel had come back to him from the dead, and he'd moaned into Daniel's hair in front of a hundred military men and women, completely uncaring of anyone but Daniel. That was when Jack had bought his first real clue. Right then.

"Jack," Daniel said, peppering his face with kisses, a delighted smile on his face, eyes bright with delight, as if Jack were a much sought after dusty tome unexpectedly found in some dark corner of a distant planet. "Jack," he said again. "Finally."

Jack smiled back. He still had an erection to take care of, but they had time. He wasn't as young as he used to be and he wanted this to last. "Bed?" he asked.

"Bed," Daniel said.

"Still wished you'd brought some work home with you?"

Daniel hesitated, but Jack could see the teasing in his eyes. Then, "No. Not even a little."

*****

"Aliens?" Joe asked incredulously.

Methos smirked. "I would think aliens would be easier to believe than Immortals."

"I don't believe it," Mac said.

Somehow that didn't surprise Methos at all. He had no further evidence to give. Jack hadn't told him much; he'd gleaned most of what he knew from Daniel's office, and while the wonders contained within might convince Joe, Duncan was going to play his most-stubborn-man-alive shtick no matter what Methos said.

Methos shrugged. "Believe it or not, it's true. In fact, there's always been a faction of Immortals who believed that we came from another planet."

Mac made a scoffing sound.

"And you've met some?" Joe asked. "Real aliens?"

Nodding, Methos said, "Ugly sons of bitches. Like slugs, parasites." He snapped his fingers. "Puppet Masters by Heinlein."

"I hated that book," Joe said. "Too creepy."

"I don't know how, but I think Heinlein met the Goa'uld, and then wrote that book."

"I don't believe it," Mac said louder. "How could they hide something like this from everyone? We would know. You would know."

"I did know," Methos reminded him. "I knew over four thousand years ago."

"Why haven't any other Immortals figured it out?" Mac insisted.

"I think they left shortly after that," Methos guessed. "These people have met the same aliens, but they met them out there." He gestured much as Daniel had, pointing vaguely to outer space. At Mac's truculent disbelief, Methos rolled his eyes. "Why would I be lying about this?"

"Why do you lie about half the things you lie about?" Mac demanded.

Fury shot through Methos. Sometimes he longed to show Mac just what he was capable of, unleash Death just enough to put some real fear in the upstart's eyes. He had no fucking idea what it meant to live for thousands of years, and yet he still acted as if he knew all the answers. He noticed Joe paying attention to his anger, as he sat up straighter, staring nervously at MacLeod. "Fuck you," Methos said. "Get out of here. No one asked you to come. I sure as hell didn't."

"You needed help," Mac snapped.

"Not from you." He smiled grimly. "If you remember, I was doing just fine on my own. And why would I ever expect or want help from you when I can't trust you not to turn on me?"

Duncan's eyes widened. "Me?"

Methos approached Mac, forcing him to take a step backwards. "Leave, Highlander." He turned to Joe. "I'll talk to you in the morning. I need some air." With that, he opened the door and strode out, slamming it behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, half hoping Mac would come after him. He wryly ruminated on that kiss for a moment. Too foolish by half to think it might actually change anything. 

To be fair, Methos thought, he could hardly blame Mac. Methos had manipulated him into killing Kronos and Caspian, and before that, he had done his best to alienate the man to keep him safe. The truth was they were just too different. Mac was all about black and white morality, and Methos was all about situational ethics.

"Nice, MacLeod," Joe said. Methos stood there, listening.

"Come on," Mac said. "Aliens?"

"Why would he be making something like that up? We'll all be talking in the morning, and surely any lie he told would be brought to light. You saw those confidentiality papers we had to sign. They sure aren't hiding bootleg liquor in this joint. Bad things happen to people who blab about this shit."

"And here Methos is, right in the middle of it."

"What the hell is your problem? You decide you hate the guy and want nothing more to do with him. Then I tell you he's being hunted, and you won't rest until you find him and help him. Then, you see him and try to take his head before kissing him, and practically fucking him right in front of us. And now, I swear, you're trying to piss him off. Why? What's going on in that crazy brain of yours?"

Methos wanted to know that, too. He stayed still, hoping Duncan wouldn't notice that Methos' presence hadn't faded. Only Duncan MacLeod could make him act like a twelve-year-old girl, trying to overhear whispers of love. Or hate, he added glumly to himself.

"Who is this Jack O'Neill?" Mac asked.

Brow furrowing, Methos was initially confused by the segue. Then, brow clearing, snickering, he understood. And he'd thought he'd been acting the twelve-year-old, but Mac had him beat. He opened the door up and held out his hand. "Mac, come with me. We'll see you tomorrow, Joe."

Joe looked confused, but he just waved a hand at them while shaking his head.

Even though it was what he wanted, Methos bit back a laugh when Mac just took his hand, as if he did it every day, as if the thought of disobeying Methos' command never crossed his mind. It confirmed Methos' theory.

Holding Mac's hand, he pulled him into his room, two doors down, leaving an empty room between them and Joe. That was probably a good thing given what Methos hoped would be happening. Once they got in the room, Mac dropped his hand and crossed his arms over his chest as if he'd just realized he'd done Methos' bidding without an argument and was ready to argue even more now to make up for it.

"You and I," Methos started, "have nothing in common. We do share some friends, but little else. We don't think alike, we don't share the same values, we don't prioritize the same way. We are completely different people."

Mac frowned at him, as if Methos had stolen his lines. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying this, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, that despite our differences, from the moment I met you, I was yours."

Mac's eyes widened.

Methos moved closer to him. "I belong to you."

Mac blinked, but he didn't budge when Methos moved even closer. And his arms, rather than staying tightly crossed across his chest, dropped to his sides. One hand almost reached for Methos but dropped back down.

"I don't know how to love cautiously. I never have. It's my biggest fault. And there you were, beautiful and kind and noble, and I fell for you like a ton of bricks."

"Methos," Mac said, the hand rising again and this time his fingers came to rest on Methos' arm. 

Methos didn't think he was imagining the hope imbuing his spoken name. "So, Highlander, this is my question for you. When I make you angry, which I will, will it be easier to bear if you know I love you? When I disappoint you, which I will, will you be able to more easily forgive me if you know that I adore you? When I make you so angry you want to plunge a knife into my chest, which I will, will it help to know that I worship you?" He took Mac's hand on his arm and brought it to his mouth, kissing the palm. 

For a moment, as Mac stared at him, speechless, Methos was afraid he'd blown it, that Mac hadn't been ready to hear any of that, too much, too soon. That while Mac might care for Methos, it wasn't enough to make Mac comfortable with the burden of this almost obsessive and stalkerish profession of love.

But then Mac smiled, one of his rare, true smiles that took years off his face and captured Methos' breath. "Aye," Mac said. "I think it will help. I think it will help a lot." He gently pulled his hand away from Methos and cradled the back of Methos' head to pull him closer. "Aye," he said again, as he kissed Methos gently, his tongue running over the seam of his lips, as if asking for permission.

Methos opened his mouth, taking Mac's tongue inside, tangling his with Mac's, but softly, nothing like the conflagration that had overtaken them in Daniel's office. This was a gentle exploration on both sides, a sense of endless time and permission to get to wherever the night took them.

He allowed Mac to head them toward the bed, the moves seductive and rhythmic, almost a slow dance, bodies teasingly close, the kisses never stopping, except to pull back, smile at each other, and then start again.

The truth of it, Methos thought dreamily, was that he and Mac were masters of seduction, champions of disrobing partners, and superb at pleasing a lover. It was marvelous to surrender to Mac's prowess, much as Mac was surrendering to his, both of them aware they were in the very best of hands, and to allow the magic of that to surround them as their clothes fell effortlessly to the floor, as they tumbled into bed, their bodies perfectly aligned, and the kissing, oh the kissing, was so sublime, making Methos' head spin.

And as lube appeared from somewhere, hand cream, Methos guessed, it was only right that he allow Mac to enter his body, as he already belonged to Mac in every way that mattered, that this was just more of the same, to allow Mac total dominion over him with the thrusts of his body and his sure hands, and his softly spoken words of love, until Methos erupted under those capable hands, the pleasure unspeakably profound because it was Duncan's hands, and Duncan's lips, still kissing him.

Methos wrapped himself around Duncan as the man's thrusts grew uneven, and he held him tightly as he found his own climax deep inside Methos' body. Tomorrow night, or maybe later this night, he'd take his turn; he had some tricks up his sleeve on how to drive a lover wild that he'd venture Mac had never experienced. He hummed into Mac's neck. Finally.

Much later, after they cleaned up in the shower, only to get dirty again, and then clean again, as they lay in bed, caressing each other, Mac said, "I love you too, Methos. I think I always have. I just didn't know how to…" He stopped, stymied.

"How to get past the anger, and disappointment, and the crazy?" Methos finished for him.

Smiling, reaching out to tap the end of Methos' nose, Mac nodded. "Aye."

"Touch is very healing," Methos offered.

The smile turned into a grin. "Then I foresee a tremendous amount of touching in our future." This time he leaned forward and kissed the tip of Methos' nose. "Thank you for taking the initiative. I'm not sure that I could have been so brave."

"If I remember things correctly," Methos corrected him, "you were the one to attack me in Daniel's office. After," he added, through narrowed eyes, "threatening my head."

That got him a hug, and as it pressed all of Mac's naked body against his, Methos took a long moment to thoroughly enjoy it. "I did, didn't I," Mac said against his neck, his voice filled with laughter. "I was so sure I'd be rescuing you, and there you were completely safe and reading a book!" He shook his head at Methos' smug smirk. "You are such an unrepentant asshole."

"Does that mean more touching?" Methos asked, his hand stroking the luscious curves of Mac's ass. He dipped his finger into the crease, the tip pressing against the furled entrance to Mac's body. 

Mac groaned and pushed back against the finger, forcing it to dip inside. "Aye," he groaned again. "Right now."

Methos gladly complied. 

*****

After breakfast and a long introduction to the Stargate Program a la Dr. Jackson, Duncan, Methos and Joe sat in the conference room with General Hammond, Colonel Jack O'Neill, Major Samantha Carter, Dr. Daniel Jackson, and Teal'c. A warrior from another planet. Another planet. Duncan felt that should be repeated, if only in his mind. 

Methos hadn't been lying, and even though things had worked out just fine, more than fine in fact, stupendously was the word that came to mind, he felt a twinge of shame that he had discounted Methos' words so quickly.

The shame left quickly, as Methos would no doubt be lying, at least by omission or hyperbole, soon enough, driving Duncan mad. But, Duncan remembered, with a grin he was sure made him look like an idiot, it did help to know that Methos loved him, adored him, worshiped him. It helped tremendously.

He saw O'Neill wink at Methos, no doubt due to the stupid grin on Duncan's face, but he couldn't help it. Besides, Dr. Jackson had a similar one on his face, so it wasn't like the colonel could throw stones.

At least now the wink didn't concern Duncan. It made him smug. Aye, he was the one who'd made love to Methos last night. Duncan had made him scream. Several times. And Methos had done the same to him. A good time was had by all. And while Dr. Jackson was a handsome, brilliant man, he wasn't Methos. Not by a long shot. There was only one Methos. The longest living man, one of a kind, and Methos had chosen him. Duncan suspected the smile would be there on his face for a while.

"We'd like to offer you a job," O'Neill said, breaking into Duncan's happy thoughts. "Both of you. All of you, actually. Carter thinks you have some mad computer skills she'd be happy to take advantage of," O'Neill added specifically to Joe. "Not to mention you managed to hack into NORAD and kept us on the run for over a day. Impressive."

"Due to Methos' unusual circumstances, where there seems to be a steady stream of people trying to kill him, we thought we'd house you on our Alpha Site," Jack continued.

"Alpha Site?" Duncan asked.

"Its actual designation is P3X-984," Carter said. "It's still in the Milky Way Galaxy."

Duncan stared at her. "Another planet? You want us to live on another planet? I can't live on another planet. I have family here, a life. I can't just leave."

"Before you just say no simply because you're as stubborn as the day is long," Methos entreated, "hear me out."

"You want this?" Duncan asked.

"I do."

"Then, I'll listen, but Methos, we have a life, jobs, people who depend on us here."

"You could still communicate with them via e-mail," Dr. Jackson said, "and you could visit on a regular basis. We just want to keep Methos safe, and I can't imagine he'd want to live here, underground."

"No, I wouldn't," Methos said, "not that the work wouldn't almost be worth it." He took a deep breath. "Mac, I do want this. Do you have any idea how long it's been since something new came around? After 5000 years there isn't anything new under the sun. Well, that's not completely true, there's you and Joe, people can still surprise me. And there have certainly been advances in science and technology, but it hasn't been that hard to keep up."

"But this," he continued, tapping the table to indicate the program, "this is new. This is brand new. And not only new, but something that can take advantage of everything I know, all my degrees, all my experience, I can use it here. Maybe not my literature PhD…"

"Absolutely your literature PhD," Dr. Jackson interrupted. "Sometimes we find abandoned planets, and the only way we can get a sense of what happened, what the aliens were like, is by their writing."

Methos grinned at him and then back at Duncan. "Even my literature degree. You heard what they said, half the planets out there were populated by humans at different times of our evolution, so my past is out there, the languages I know, the cultures. I can help here; I can be truly useful in a way nothing else could offer me."

Duncan's heart was breaking, because Methos was right. This was the perfect place for him, but Duncan couldn't imagine leaving his planet, the home of his birth. What about Richie and Amanda, and Gina and Robert? Who would take care of the next Immortal crisis? "If I come with you," Duncan said, "who would we be leaving to win the game?"

Methos shut his eyes, clearly trying not to say something snippy, and Duncan appreciated it; he wasn't in the mood for Methos' acerbic wit. "Let's talk about the game. Do you want to win?"

Duncan didn't know how to answer that. "I don't want the wrong person to win." He knew that much for sure. "The wrong person could destroy the world."

"That's not what I asked you. "Do you want to win?" When Duncan didn't answer, Methos helped him out. "Are you willing to take my head to win?"

"No," Duncan yelled. "I’m not taking your head."

"Then the game will never end. I won't take yours either. So the game is moot. Fuck the game. I was out of the game until I met you. I'd taken myself out of it for over 200 years. It's ridiculous."

"If you're on another planet, it won't be an issue," Duncan pointed out. "I won't have to take your head."

"Right," Methos said, and here was the sarcasm. "And whoop-de-do, you're the winner. All your friends are dead, there are no other Immortals, no one around to even hand you your trophy. You'll be alone. Is that what you want?"

This wasn't the first time Duncan had had these thoughts, but it was hard to just have them hammered out in front of him. The Game had been his life since the moment he'd first come back from the dead. "Who will help the next time there's a hunter, or another one like Kronos who wants to commit wholesale murder?"

"Who would help if someone took your head?" Methos answered. "Things change, Mac, it's the way of things." 

"Besides it's not like I can't get in touch with you if I need you, right?" Joe said, sending an inquiring look O'Neill's way.

"Right," O'Neill said. 

"We have plenty of people who live off world," Dr. Jackson added, "and they get home regularly to see their families. With the Stargate, you'll get home faster than you would a bad commute. It just takes seconds to get back to Earth."

"And if some asswipe wins the game, I'll let you know, and you can both come home to take him down," Joe said.

"You're not staying?" Methos asked.

"I already have a job, and it means a lot to me. You guys mean a lot to me, and I think I can keep you safer if I stay here, starting some rumor campaigns."

Methos grinned at him. "Much appreciated."

"And you know there're always a couple of barstools waiting for you guys."

"Even more appreciated," Methos said. He glanced at Duncan. "Mac?"

"I…" Duncan sighed. "I need time, Methos. This is a huge decision. I need to think it through. I need to talk to…"

"No talking," O'Neill interrupted. "In case it's slipped your mind, you signed a bunch of papers saying you wouldn't say a thing to anyone."

Duncan remembered now, damn it. His lips tightened. "Methos, you stay for right now, where it's safe. Let me go home and think things through."

Methos shook his head. "If you leave, I leave."

Voices came from several directions all essentially saying the same thing Duncan won out, "You can't. It isn't safe."

"Answer me this, Highlander," Methos retorted. "Who do you think all those Immortals will go to if I suddenly disappear? Who will they assume either took my head, or at the very least knows where I am? And how many of them would walk away without asking for a challenge?"

Probably none of them, Duncan thought morosely. "I can handle myself."

"No, you can't," Methos said. "Not against these Immortals. Some of them you could, but not so many, and not so old."

"I best you every time we spar," Duncan argued.

"Because I let you. You have never really seen me fight."

Duncan was stung. "Why? Why have you held back with me?"

"Because you'd be dead. When I am fighting for my life, I let go, and when I let go, the person I'm fighting is dead at the end of it."

Startled, Duncan took in Methos' deadly serious demeanor.

Leaning in, Methos added, "Mac, how do you think I've actually survived 5000 years?"

"But you almost died this go round," Duncan protested, aware that there'd always been this little voice in the back of his head wondering how Methos had actually survived all that time, when he seemed to always end up with Duncan's sword against his neck.

"How many quickenings did I take?" Methos asked Joe.

"Over a hundred."

"A hundred quickenings," Methos said. "In a matter of weeks. That's what almost killed me. I forgot who I was. After the last head, if I'd run into an Immortal, I would have been dead."

"Not so much," O'Neill said. "You took that guy down at the hospital."

"I had managed to get some rest and some food, and the other quickenings I had taken were starting to settle down." He smiled at Dr. Jackson. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Are you kidding?" Dr. Jackson said with a return grin. "I never get to speak half those languages! It was great practice."

Methos laughed at that, affection in his eyes for Dr. Jackson.

That bothered Duncan a little, until Methos, as if he were reading his mind, looked at him, the love in his eyes overriding any affection he might have been showing the other man. Right, Duncan thought. He loves me. "I want you to stay here where it's safe," Duncan said stubbornly.

"And I'm not letting you leave this place without me," Methos returned, just as stubbornly.

"They'll be coming for you," Joe said.

"This isn't open for debate," Methos said. "When you leave here, I'll be going with you."

Duncan noticed that most of the people in the room were sending him fairly lethal glares. It wasn't his fault Methos was so damn stubborn. "Why?"

"Do you remember what I said last night?"

Duncan would never forget that. Ever. "Aye."

"That's why. I won't stay here safe and sound while you're at risk out there. I'm not going to lose you to Immortals hunting for me. I'll fight my own battles."

"And you'll die," Duncan said.

"Better me than you," Methos replied.

"Damn it," Duncan yelled. He sat back, furious, feeling backed into a corner. "How is this fair to me? I get to choose between you dying out there, or me giving up everything that's dear to me without even the opportunity to think things through? This feels like extortion."

"I've done worse to keep you safe. You can stay here while you think it through. Why go out there where you will be in danger? For once in your life, think it through before you put your life on the line. Everyone will be safer if you don't go back. You can get a message to Amanda and Richie to lay low, and to pass it around, and after a while the Immortals hunting my head will go to ground."

Stung, Duncan snapped out, "Funny how it's your problem, your past, that's put us all in danger, that's forcing me to leave the life I care about."

"Oh, and here it comes," Methos bit right back. 

Duncan waited for some piercing comment that would flay him alive.

Instead, to his surprise, Methos took a deep breath. "Mac. Remember what I said last night? Will it help you right now to grab hold of your temper?"

He loves me. He worships me. He adores me. Duncan's new rosary. "Aye, goddammit." Duncan tried very hard to fight off a grin. "Damn you."

Methos grinned back in relief.

"Unauthorized gate activation," a voice boomed over the loud system. Hammond hit a button that opened the view to a room that held a huge spherical object. Duncan guessed that was the Stargate. It was lit up like a neon sign, making a loud clanging noise. Hammond and O'Neill were up and out of the room, Carter, Jackson, and Teal'c right behind them.

Duncan and Methos exchanged glances and then followed them, Joe behind them.

O'Neill and Teal'c moved down to the room housing the Stargate, arming themselves. Hammond, Carter, and Jackson moved into the small control room. Joe joined them, as Methos and Duncan leapt down the steps to join the other two.

That thing is dialing in from another planet, Duncan thought, incredulous. He felt a sense of wonder and could understand Methos' excitement about something so startlingly different. He glanced at his friend only to find his eyes sparkling with excitement.

The noises stopped, although the Stargate was still lit up, and it seemed to be glowing. There was what looked like a cover on it that hadn't been removed.

"Any teams out?" O'Neill called.

"Ten," Hammond responded. "Three are late for their check-in, but not long enough to send teams out for them."

O'Neill scowled. "No IDC?"

"No, sir," the lieutenant manning the main console said. "Wait. Someone's trying to get through a message."

"Great," O'Neill griped. "I love these."

Duncan guessed the opposite was true.

There was a resounding smack against the cover.

"Fuck," O'Neill said. "Do we know what that was?"

"Something that was alive," Carter called out. There was another ominous thump against the iris.

"Double fuck," O'Neill said. Then, looking up at the control room, said, "Sorry, sir."

"Nothing to apologize for, I feel the same way."

"We got the message, sir," Carter said. She sounded grim, and Duncan looked up to see she was looking straight at Methos. Without volition, Duncan moved closer and slightly in front of the old man.

"So? Well?" O'Neill prompted. The lights on the Stargate turned off and the glow disappeared as well.

"It says: That was two of your men. Send Methos through the Chappa'ai within the next fifteen minutes to the following coordinates. Until he appears, I will send another one of your soldiers through the Chappa'ai at random intervals. Or you may remove your iris and risk what else I may send through." 

Duncan watched Methos' face, watched as first fear, real fear, appeared, quickly washed away first by resignation, and then determination.

"Who's it from?" O'Neill asked.

"We know who it's from," Methos said. "Osiris."

"Yes, sir," Carter said.

"Fuck," O'Neill said with feeling. "Other than Mr. Highlander trying to screw up the best hire since Daniel here, this had been shaping up to be a pretty nice day too."

"You need to send me through," Methos said.

"Yeah, no," O'Neill stated.

"What are your choices?" Methos asked. He looked up at Hammond. "I'll bet he has all three of those teams. He wouldn't be doing this if he didn't hold all the cards."

"We don't just throw people through the gate when someone we hate tells us to," O'Neill snapped.

Duncan grabbed Methos' arm as if he might walk through the gate if someone didn't hold onto him. "Wasn't it just you saying that everyone staying alive was a good plan?"

"He doesn't want my head," Methos said.

"No," Dr. Jackson said, "he wants to torture you for a decade or two first. Remember, I've read your journal about the last time this happened."

"That's right," Methos said. "And each time he kills me, I'll revive, giving you plenty of time to come up with a plan to rescue me. I will annoy him just enough to keep him wanting to kill me over and over again, but not enough to take my head. Your soldiers don't have that option. Once they're dead, they're going to stay dead."

"Forget it," Duncan said. "There's got to be another way."

Methos turned to him. "There isn't. He wants me."

Duncan glowered at him. "I will not allow it."

"Do you have a better idea?" Methos insisted.

Duncan glanced wildly around. "Do we know where his planet is?"

"We have some idea," Dr. Jackson said. "Or at least we know where he was last. But I can't believe he'd still be there, not when he knows we know."

"So how will we find you?" Duncan demanded of Methos. "If you go, we might never get you back."

"I'd find a way to escape," Methos said casually, as if they weren't speaking about abandoning him to the mercies of a hostile alien with an axe to grind and a predilection for torture. "Mac, it's me. I always survive."

"Until you don't," Duncan growled.

"I trust you," Methos said to O'Neill and Dr. Jackson. "And I really trust you," he added to Duncan. "You'll find me."

"I just found you," Duncan said for Methos' ears only. "I just found you, and you expect me to let you go?"

"What would you do if you were in my shoes?" Methos smiled wryly. "Apparently, you've rubbed off on me."

Duncan didn't appreciate the humor, nor did he appreciate the fact that he'd be doing exactly what Methos was offering to do. "Methos."

Methos touched his forehead to Duncan's. "This isn't goodbye, Highlander." To O'Neill he said, "Time's a-wasting."

"This is a bad plan. How do we know he's not just going to take your head?"

Duncan remembered Cassandra's words about Methos dying a thousand deaths. "Cassandra did this."

Methos turned to him, surprised, eyebrows up. "Cassandra knows Osiris?"

"She must. She told me that she'd ensured you would die a thousand deaths. She must have told this Osiris how to find you."

"Osiris must have been there when we were, Jack," Dr. Jackson said. "That's how she knew he'd be here."

To Joe, Duncan snapped out. "Joe, can you find out where she is?"

"Put me in front of a computer," Joe said with determination.

"We find Cassandra," Duncan said, "we find Osiris."

"There's half a plan already," Methos said. "Now, let me go before he sends someone else to die."

"I really hate this plan," O'Neill said. "Sir?" he asked Hammond.

"I hate it too," Hammond said, "but if Methos can give us some time to find him and the rest of our missing teams, and if he's willing, I'm inclined to take him up on his offer." To Methos, he added, "But I'd appreciate you coming back to us in one piece. We still have a job offer on the table."

"Assuming you don't run screaming in the other direction once we get you home," O'Neill said dryly. "I don't think we're making much of a first impression on you."

"More than you know," Methos said. "I'll be right back." He grabbed Duncan's hand and dragged him up the stairs and back into the conference room, away from the window that looked over the room with the Stargate.

"Don't do this," Duncan begged.

Methos just kissed him. Duncan kissed him back desperately, trying to tell Methos just how much he loved him with his lips and tongue and hands. Methos finally pulled away. "That's all the incentive I need to stay alive."

Duncan pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him, wishing he could run far away with Methos to keep him safe but, in time, he let go. "The next time I want to do something like this," he hissed, "I don't want to hear one word out of you in complaint."

One side of Methos' lips curled up in response. "Okay. You get one heroic rescue attempt with no mocking." He pulled away with one last look and then strode back down to the room with the Stargate. "Do whatever you need to do to get me there."

"Methos," Dr. Jackson began, looking hesitant.

Methos waited for whatever he was going to say.

"I have no right to ask you this, but the woman, the body Osiris is in, she was a good friend once."

"Daniel," O'Neill warned.

Daniel nodded. "No, I mean I'll understand if you have to kill her…him, but if you have a choice."

"What was her name?" Methos asked.

"Sarah. Sarah Gardner." Dr. Jackson smiled sadly at him. "Do you want your sword?" 

"No," Methos said. "But I'll take one of those." He pointed at one of the P90s. "Let me see how many I can take out before someone takes me down."

O'Neill nodded at one of the soldiers, and the rifle was handed over. Methos checked it out, his expertise with the weapon clearly satisfying the Colonel. "I expect that back," O'Neill said. "Stealing government property is a serious offense."

"I'll keep that in mind."

It was a somber crowd who watched as the Stargate engaged and the iris came down, revealing what looked like a pool of water. Duncan walked up the ramp with Methos, putting out a hand to touch it. "It feels like water."

"It's an event horizon," Dr. Jackson called.

Whatever that was, Duncan thought. He'd have much to learn if they stayed here.

"Stay safe, Highlander," Methos said, putting one hand on Duncan's face, his thumb caressing his temple. "Live, grow stronger, fight another day." Then he stepped through the portal and was gone.

*****

MacLeod still had his hand in the event horizon. "Throw me a rifle, too. I'm following him."

"Like hell you are," Jack said, striding up the ramp. "Your only job here is to find that Cassandra bitch."

"She must be heading here," Joe called. "Her Watcher says she's almost in Denver, heading south."

"We need to go find her," Daniel said. 

"I agree," Hammond said, "Meanwhile, I'll try to contact Jacob to see if the Tok'ra have any idea where Osiris might be."

"Swell," Jack said quietly, overjoyed at the chance they might get screwed by the Tok'ra again. "How about we contact what teams we can that are off-world, and get them asking questions?"

"Good idea," Hammond agreed, patting Walter on the shoulder. "Please work on that."

"Yes, sir," Walter said.

"I'd like to speak to any team leaders you do find out there."

"Yes, sir."

"Walter," Jack called, "Get me SG-11."

"On it, sir." 

To Carter, Teal'c and Daniel, Jack said, "Gear up. We're following Methos in twenty minutes."

Edwards walked into the Gateroom a few minutes later. "You called?" he said dryly to Jack.

"Colonel Edwards," Jack said.

"Colonel O'Neill," Edwards said cautiously.

"Meet Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Jack said, pointing at the man. "I want your team to escort him to wherever he needs to go. Your mission is to intercept a woman, name of Cassandra. You take her, dead or alive, preferably dead, at least for a while."

Edwards was frowning at him. "You want me to kill a woman? Is she an alien?"

"In a matter of speaking." He pointed at MacLeod again. "He'll explain. You need to explain so they believe you," he emphasized. "They need to know they can take her down." He noticed Carter was already back, ready to go. "Find someplace they can take Cassandra for questioning. I don't want her here."

"How about Buckley Air Force Base in Aurora. It's in south Denver," a new voice said.

"Captain Lorne," Jack said. "That's a capital idea." Ritter and Sanchez followed Lorne in.

"MacLeod, here's your team. Colonel Edwards, Captain Lorne, Lieutenant Ritter, and Dr. Sanchez. Edwards, you're not going to want to believe anything he says, but believe it anyway."

"Okay," Edwards said, looking like he wanted to inch away from Jack. Jack wished he had time to watch Duncan convince him. It would probably be good for a couple of laughs.

"Hello," MacLeod said, looking a little wary.

Jack crooked his finger at the guy. When he got within whisper range he said, "Lorne's a pilot. He takes you to Cassandra. You grab Cassandra and they'll take you someplace you can question her, until she tells us how she communicates with Osiris, without giving any information about us away. Got it?" He still wasn't sure what Methos saw in this guy. Good looking, yeah, no question, but Jack had no doubt Methos would already be on the hunt while this guy was still shifting from one foot to the other.

"Aye," MacLeod said, looking at Edwards.

"Time," Jack said, tapping his watch, "is of the essence."

"Maybe I should explain someplace here where the blood won't matter."

Jack thought about that. "Good idea. Clear the room, except for Edwards and your team and the people in the control room. Out." 

"You want Walter to stay?" Daniel asked quietly.

Jack shot Daniel a look. "Walter knows everything. There is no point in ever hiding anything from him."

Walter looked smug, but kept his mouth shut.

"Here?" Duncan asked.

"Here," Jack said. "I've bled out plenty in this room. In fact, right there," and he pointed up at the wall, "I spent the better part of a couple of days pinned to the wall by some alien doohickey. Fun times."

Duncan slipped off his coat, and then started to unbutton his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked.

"I like this shirt."

Jack supposed getting stabbed or shot on a regular basis would wreak havoc on a civilian wardrobe.

When MacLeod was half naked and looking good, if the admiring looks from way too many people in the room were any indication, MacLeod looked at Joe. "Joe, do you want the honors?"

"Oh," Jack said, "allow me."

MacLeod frowned at him. "All I asked for was some time to think it over. I think that's fair."

"I think it's fair, too," Daniel piped in.

"What it sounded like to me was that Methos was going to follow you out of here to certain death, and for a boatload of stupid reasons."

"Jack," Daniel said. "You're digressing."

"Right," Jack said, and he pulled his Beretta and shot MacLeod right through the heart.

"Holy fuck," Ritter said. "Did he just kill that guy?"

Edwards grabbed for Jack's gun.

Hammond, who had come into the gate room, stopped him. "It's all right, Colonel," he said. "Give it a moment."

Edwards stared at them all as if they were crazy, but he let go of Jack's arm.

"I don't understand," Lorne said. "How is this explaining anything?" He shifted his boots away from rivulets of blood heading his way.

Several minutes passed, then there was a gasp, and MacLeod's eyes opened. He drew in a deep breath. "God, I hate that." He sent a murderous glare Jack's way. "Ow."

Jack smirked at him. On the whole, he felt much better.

"Holy fuck," Ritter said again. With a nervous glance at Hammond, he amended with a "Sir."

MacLeod's chest, which had clearly had a bullet hole in it, was now unblemished.

"You an alien or an android?" Edwards asked, glancing at Jack for confirmation.

"Neither. I was born in Scotland in 1592."

"Holy fuck," and then, "Sir."

Sanchez smacked Ritter. "Shut the fuck up."

"Isn't that when Columbus sailed the ocean blue?" Ritter asked.

"That's 1492," Joe called from the control room.

"Is he one, too?" Lorne asked MacLeod.

"No. He's mortal."

"What the hell are you?" Edwards demanded.

"I'm an Immortal, and I cannot die."

Jack let the lie stand for the time being. No reason everyone had to know that a little decapitation would take care of things.

"You are too much like Methos," MacLeod complained to Jack, as he rinsed off with a wet towel Carter had gotten him. 

"He shoot you too?" Jack asked.

"All the time," chorused MacLeod and Joe.

Jack barked out a laugh. "I knew I liked that guy."

"You're not exactly making me want to work here," MacLeod said darkly.

"Don't mind him," Daniel said. "But you really do need to get going."

That seemed to galvanize MacLeod. "Joe's coming, too. He'll need a laptop."

Carter moved into the control room and opened a cabinet, handing one to Joe. 

"I'll need a plug," Joe began, but then took a closer look at the laptop. "What is this?"

"Naquadah battery," Carter said. "Long story, alien element. Trust me when I say you won't run out of juice. You'll be pulling off the DOD satellites, so you'll stay connected as well."

"Don't steal it," Jack said.

Joe grinned at him. "Let's go find that bitch."

Jack liked Joe, too. A guy who'd lost his legs and not only managed to elude the US Government for a day but maintain a sense of humor was all right in Jack's book. And they both seemed to like MacLeod, so Jack was willing to give the guy a chance. But if he tried to take Methos away from here, Jack was shooting him again.

SG-11, MacLeod, and Joe left the Gateroom, heading up top where a helicopter was waiting.

Daniel handed Jack a vest, then his rifle, then his pistol, then a zat. Jack buckled up, attached the P-90 to his vest, put his Beretta in his thigh holster, and the zat in his waistband against the small of his back. "Anything else?" he asked Daniel with a small grin.

Daniel handed him his cap and sunglasses.

"Why haven't you always been this helpful?" Jack asked.

"There wasn't another linguist in danger waiting for us to go get him," Daniel said. "I have a huge backlog."

Jack huffed out a laugh. "We'll keep in touch, sir," he told Hammond.

"See that you do." 

Walter dialed up the same gate address they'd sent Methos through.

"Bring back our old man," Hammond said as the gate engaged.

"I plan to," Jack said. He tossed a shock grenade through the gate, gave it fifteen seconds. Then, after making sure everyone was ready to follow him, walked into the wormhole. 

*****

Lorne sat in the pilot's seat, Joe next to him. Edwards, Ritter, Sanchez, and MacLeod were in the back, headsets on.

"Got her," Joe said. "Let's get this bird in the air."

Edwards nodded at Lorne and, obediently, he initiated take-off. "Sorry," he said, looking quickly behind him at Duncan, "but somehow in the midst of all of that, I didn't catch your name."

"Duncan MacLeod. You can call me Mac, or Duncan."

"Evan Lorne," Evan said in response. "You're really over four hundred years old?"

"Aye," MacLeod said. "The woman we're after has been alive for almost 3000 years."

"And it's her fault you've got men missing," Joe said.

"Joe," MacLeod said. "She couldn't have known."

"You make a deal with the devil," Joe said stiffly, "and you're as good as the devil yourself. Doesn't matter either way. As soon as I heard she'd started a hunt for Adam, she lost my vote."

Duncan didn't have a response to that, especially as he largely agreed; in fact, he'd told Cassandra he'd take her head if Methos was hurt. 

"When we find her, be on your guard," Duncan told the other men. "She's good with a sword, but she also commands the Voice."

"What's that mean?" Edwards snapped out. He still seemed a little shell-shocked given the alarmed looks he kept shooting Duncan.

"She can command you with her voice. She can make you think things, do things that you might not normally do."

"You're shitting me, right?" Ritter asked. 

"No," Duncan said.

"And don't be afraid to shoot her," Joe said. "As you just saw, it won't kill her, but it will give you time to restrain her and take her somewhere for interrogation."

Duncan felt a little sick to his stomach. She was his friend, despite her obsessive need for revenge. He couldn't relinquish all hope that he could turn her around.

"Mac," Joe said. "Decide now what your main mission objective is, because if you're trying to achieve two contradictory goals here, you'll only fuck up big time, and Adam is the one who'll pay."

Duncan nodded. "We find Adam."

"What did this woman do?" Sanchez asked.

"She's responsible for getting a mutual friend in serious trouble. And in order to do that, Osiris snatched a few of your teams and is threatening to kill them. He already did kill a couple of your people."

"Osiris, the Goa'uld Osiris?" Edwards asked, glowering.

"Apparently," Duncan said. "We need to find Osiris, so we can find Adam and your people."

"And this woman knows how to do that?" Sanchez asked.

"She's the one who told Osiris where to find Adam."

"Is this other guy one of you? An Immortal?" Lorne asked.

Joe nodded. "One of the oldest."

"How old?"

"Old," Duncan said, not willing to give all of the old man's secrets away, even if he might end up working with these men at some point. "I'm a baby compared to him."

"So what did he do to get this woman so riled up?" Ritter asked. "She's gotta be pissed about something."

"That's his story to tell," Duncan said, wondering what these men of war would think of Methos' story. O'Neill didn't seem to care, or Hammond, or even Dr. Jackson. 

"He older than her?" Lorne asked.

Duncan nodded.

"Women weren't treated very well for most of history," Lorne said. "People weren't shocked when Paul spoke to the Ephesians about how wives should submit to their husbands. That had been the expectation since time began. The shocker was when Jesus said that husbands should love their wives. Men treated their wives like livestock. For breeding or as chattel to make alliances. There weren't too many true love stories going on."

Edwards snickered. "Lorne likes history."

"I'm just saying that if this guy, what's his name?"

"Adam Pierson."

"I’m just saying that if Pierson and this woman's paths crossed three thousand years ago, it wouldn't have been pretty."

Joe tapped his nose. "Got it in one."

"Hell of a long time to hold a grudge," Edwards commented.

"That's not what she thinks," Duncan said. 

Edwards studied him for a minute. "I can't figure you out. You on his side or hers?"

"They're both friends," Duncan admitted. "He wronged her. I can't deny that. And I'd be after him too if it had been sometime recent, even within a century, but it wasn't. What he did to her was a very long time ago, and he's not that man anymore."

"You didn't answer my question."

"His. But I'm not easy with that decision. I've known her longer."

"So why him, if you've known her longer?" Lorne asked. "What makes you choose him over her? If he did the things we're all imagining he did, why are you forgiving him?" He glanced at Joe. "And you, too. You're clearly taking this man's side over hers. Why?"

Duncan and Joe considered each other for a long moment. Joe finally said, "I've known Adam for a long time, and he's a good guy. When you live as long as he has, you don't stay the same person. How can you? Life changes you, he's seen entire civilizations rise and fall, watched the topography of the world change, lived through every kind of barbarism and torture. It's not like us and our short lives, or," Joe mused out loud, "maybe it is. Do you want to be judged on something you did twenty, thirty years ago, have that be what defines you in everyone's eyes?"

There was silence in the helicopter, other than the mechanical whirs and the beating of the blades.

"He did wrong, no doubt about it. And if he could go back and do it again, he wouldn't. He's changed. He remade himself into someone new digging his soul out of a pit of depravity into someone who'd die for you if he cared about you, and that makes him someone pretty special in my book. Whereas she," and Joe pointed in some nonspecific direction, "has not changed at all, which makes her crazy."

Duncan let Joe's words wash over him, cleansing away part of his guilt in choosing Methos over Cassandra. 

"He's a good man," Joe continued, "and I know I'm belaboring the point, but he's saved my life half a dozen times or more. He's been a doctor for centuries, saved countless lives. Worked on the underground railroad, and shoots Mac here regularly to keep him from doing stupid things that would most likely end up getting him killed."

"Joe!" Duncan complained. "Not regularly. Only a couple of times."

Edwards grinned a lopsided smile. "Sounds like a good friend to have around."

"He is," Duncan said. That he was sure of. He was very clear that who Methos used to be, and who he was now, were different. What was still foggy was how you got from point A to point B. How you remade yourself so entirely. Maybe Duncan's problem was that he'd spent most of his life trying to stay at his own point A, liking it there, leaving him with little need for such sweeping change.

Frustrated, because he kept thinking he'd resolved the entire issue only to find it gnawing at him again, Duncan decided to stop thinking about it. One thing at a time. Find Cassandra. Try to reason with her, and if he couldn't, then do what needed to be done. 

At the end of the day, Methos was Methos, and Duncan did love him. Was in love with him. Deciding he'd much rather spend the time thinking about the amazing sex he'd had last night, he looked out the window and let his mind find happier memories.

*****

Methos gasped back to life, groaning in exhaustion, blinking, his vision still impaired. He'd been in Osiris' hands for one hour, and he'd already died twice. "If you really want me to be enjoying these deaths," Methos rasped out, "you need to give me some time to recover. Sooner or later, I'll just fade out." Deciding he might as well go for broke, he said, "I'll also need to eat and drink." He needed to stay alive, really alive, long enough for someone to get to him, or for him to strategize a way to escape.

"I agree," Osiris said in her beautiful woman's voice, a disturbingly evil look on its face. "But nothing as enjoyable as food and drink, I think." He snapped his fingers and someone scuttled over.

Methos had woken up an hour ago to find himself strapped securely, naked, to a metal table. The straps were made of heavy leather, relatively new with little give. For the moment he wasn't going anywhere.

He was freezing his ass off, just to add to the overall misery of his situation. It was hard enough waking up from death, without adding in freezing, being naked, a prisoner, and with no bathtub filled with hot water and a hotter Highlander in sight.

The first death had been a knife through the heart. The second, a knife through his left eye into his brain. Methos hated the sound of his eyeballs deflating; it always made him a little sick to his stomach. His brain seemed to be working, but his vision in his left eye was blurry. He'd be more worried about that if this wasn't the ninth or tenth time he'd lost an eye.

The person who had come over at Osiris' beckoning was doing something to his arm. When Methos looked over, he saw that he was starting an IV. Terrific.

Osiris waited until the man was done, then took his place. The knife scraped down Methos' chest, leaving prickling pools of blood behind. "Those deaths were fun, but hardly elegant," he said, "although I do have years to complete the horrors I devised for you while I was held captive in that canopic jar." The sharp edge painted a bloody stripe across his belly.

Methos hoped he wasn't about to be disemboweled. He hated dying that way.

Someone brought over a bucket. "I'm going to bleed you out over and over again, one death at a time, until I have enough of your blood to boil you to death in it," Osiris told him.

He felt a flicker of macabre interest as he didn't think he'd ever been boiled in his own blood. Choked on his blood or lost the ability to breathe because of blood in his lungs, yes. "Everyone needs a goal," he said, then grit his teeth as Osiris punctured his chest with the tip of his knife.

"I'm going to just push it in enough to cut your heart open and see how long it takes you to bleed out. Then we'll try it by using arteries. I am curious as to which artery, once cut, will cause the fastest death."

"The aorta," he offered. "Trust me." He'd done extensive research of his own on this matter. He wasn't called Death for nothing.

Angrily, Osiris thrust the knife in and Methos could feel his life's blood pour out of his heart into his chest. 

"I hope they're coming for you," Osiris said. "And I hope Daniel will be with them. Do you think he'd volunteer to change places with you to save your life?"

Probably, Methos thought. Shit like that had no doubt been the cause of Jack's gray hair. Not like either Jack or Methos would let him do the exchange. Of course, if Duncan came with them, there'd be two sacrificial lemmings in play.

"And I'm glad you're amused by me so far," Osiris crooned. "It will make the look on your face when I truly start to destroy you all the sweeter. I will enjoy fully encasing you in glass except for your head, watching as your skin slowly rots off from the constant exposure to your own excrement, as my Jaffa use your mouth for their entertainment. Or perhaps I'll cut off your arms. Will they grow back? It will be interesting to watch as I cut them off and burn them. Perhaps once your arms are gone, I will put you back on Earth. How will you answer a challenge then? Your enemies would mock you before finally ending your pitiless existence."

Osiris let the knife circle Methos' balls. "And there are other things I can cut off." He made a quick jab and Methos' last seconds before this third death were filled with unimaginable pain. 

*****

"Looks like he took a few with him," Jack said, as he studied the area near the Stargate at the address Osiris had given them. There were seven dead Jaffa. There was, though, unfortunately, no sign of Methos. "Carter, can you tell anything from the DHD?"

She was already head deep inside the mechanism. Life would have been so much easier if it left a detailed list of every planet dialed. On the other hand, it would have made it easier for any of their smarter enemies to follow them home to Earth, so he guessed it was a good thing it wasn't that simple.

"All I can tell is that the last time the gate was dialed was about fifteen minutes ago."

That was later than the time they'd sent Methos' here, so Osiris had definitely taken him someplace else. "Damn it." That had been the point, of course, and was hardly a surprise, but still, damn it. "Carter, is this an uninhabited planet?"

"According to our database it is," Carter said.

"Okay." Jack adjusted his cap bill. "Let's do a little reconnaissance, see if we can figure why he chose this planet. Maybe we'll find a Jaffa alive. Check-in every fifteen minutes.

Jack got one "Yes, sir," from Carter, one nod from Teal'c, and nothing from Daniel other than the man moving to his side.

"Do you think we'll find something?" Daniel asked, his brow furrowed in worry. Carter and Teal'c walked off in the opposite direction, as he and Daniel walked away from the Stargate.

"No," Jack said. "But it's worth a shot."

"That leaves Cassandra then. I hope Duncan finds her and convinces her to talk."

"Somehow I don't think Duncan will be too good at that part. It's why I sent Edwards."

"What do you mean?" 

Jack sighed. "Do you honestly see Duncan torturing a woman?" Jack could see it as much as he could see Daniel doing the same, meaning not at all.

"Do you think they'll need to torture her?"

"Yup." And Jack wished he could be there to see it. He hadn't known Methos long, but he really liked the old guy and wanted him with the program. He hadn't felt a kinship with anyone that fast in as long as he could remember.

"You really like him, don't you?" Daniel asked softly.

"Yup," Jack said. "I do."

Daniel sighed. "Should I…do you want…" Daniel sighed again.

Jack frowned at him. "What?"

"It's okay, Jack. I mean it isn't, for me, but I do understand."

Jack let Daniel's incomprehensible words pass through his Daniel to English translator. "Oh, for the love of God. Not that way. Jesus Christ. Do you honestly think I'd have waited years for you, only to throw you over the night after I finally get you in bed?"

Daniel beamed at him, instantly reassured. "I know you have rules about sex on a mission, but I want to let you know, that if you didn't, I would push you against that rock there, and give you a blow job historians would write odes about."

"Odes?" Jack said, eyebrows up, ignoring the heaviness in his groin at the thought of Daniel pushing him around with the end result of a blow job.

"Odes. Sonnets. Maybe an epic saga," Daniel assured him, eyes dancing.

"Hold that thought, Jackson," Jack ordered. He couldn't afford to get any more distracted. "The odes and sonnets will have to wait."

"Got it." But Daniel's eyes were still full of mischief even as he moved a couple feet away from Jack. 

"And no more stupid talk, okay?" Jack growled at him. "Seriously. Are you cracked? I just like the guy. You liked the guy, right?"

Daniel nodded.

"Notice how I'm not thinking you're about to dump me for his ass?"

"Sorry, Jack. Good things and me, you know."

Jack put his hand on Daniel's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. He let his hand drop. He tapped his radio again. "Ten more minutes, then we're gating through to Osiris' last known location."

"Yes, sir," Carter said.

*****

"Her Watcher says she's driving a white Honda Accord," Joe said, face riveted to the laptop screen.

"There," Ritter said, pointing down to the white car below.

"I am so getting fired for this," Joe muttered, glancing at Ritter, then the car below. Cassandra's Watcher would see all of this, and Joe would be lucky, after the tribunal, to not end up with his back against the wall, being offered a last cigarette. Maybe a job change would be a good idea. 

Lorne started descending, landing the helicopter right on the road, forcing the Honda to skid onto the shoulder, coming to an abrupt halt. Joe thought it was a good thing this was not a well-traveled road.

The team, sans Lorne, who stayed at the controls, scrambled out of the bird and surrounded the car. Duncan followed them slowly.

"Mac," Joe called to him.

Duncan looked back, face conflicted, looking like he was the one facing a firing squad.

"Just get the information."

"She'll hate me."

"She already hates you. You chose Methos over her. She's too twisted inside to see it any other way." Joe leaned toward him. "She's not worth losing him."

"No, she's not," Duncan confirmed.

"Then, for God's sake, get your head in the game, and get this done," Joe yelled at him, needing him to snap out of whatever self imposed guilt Duncan was mired in.

A look of determination took hold, and Duncan jumped from the bird to the ground, joining the other men at the car. Joe put down his laptop, and made his own way, carefully, to the ground. He appreciated the fact that Lorne didn't ask if he needed help, although he could feel the man's eyes on him as he held on tight so as not to lose his balance.

Once on the ground, he moved toward the car.

"Cassandra," Mac called. "I need to speak with ye."

She got out of the car, every inch a powerful beauty, naturally calling any man's eyes to her face and body. Joe watched as all three men from SG-11 got lost for a moment in her spell.

"I must know how you contact this Osiris," Mac insisted.

Cassandra ignored him, turning to the other three men, ignoring Joe as well. "Do not tell me men as smart as you have been fooled by this man," she purred. "He only wants this information so he can rescue the other like him, so they can seize power on this world."

"Don't listen to her," Mac demanded.

Joe thought it was a little too late for that. He could feel the power of her voice's persuasion and Ritter was eyeing Mac with a hairy eyeball, his hands caressing his rifle.

"If you rescue me," she continued, "I will reward you with untold pleasures." She ran her hand down her body, bringing everyone's eyes to her breasts, the indentation of her slim waist, the curves of her hips. Even Joe found himself licking his lips, and he hated the bitch.

"Shut up," Joe called. "You're the bad guy here."

Joe swallowed as now Ritter eyed him.

There was a pfft sound, followed by the loud retort of a gun firing, and Cassandra let out a cry as blood blossomed over her heart as she crumpled to the ground.

"What the fuck?" Edwards said, shaking his head, glancing back at the helicopter where Lorne was putting his rifle away.

"You were falling prey to her voice," Joe said. "Duncan warned you about that."

Ritter looked ashamed. "I could have shot you," he said to Mac. "She made me want to shoot you, that bitch."

Edwards was already at Cassandra's body, using ties to restrain her hands. "Do you get used to it?" he asked, glancing at Joe. "You didn't seem to be affected."

"Once you know she's using it, you can fight against it. Hating her helps," he added with a wry smile. He punched Duncan's arm. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I was trying to think what I could say to change her mind. You know as well as I do how stubborn she is. What can I say to her to convince her to give me the information?"

"You could make her think you agree with her," Sanchez offered.

"She wouldn't believe me," Duncan said.

"She might believe it of him," Edwards said, pointing toward Ritter.

Ritter rolled his eyes. "Nice to know I'm the weakest link."

Sanchez elbowed him. "We all felt it; you just showed it the most."

Joe's attention was caught by the sound of flesh being torn, and he turned quickly to see Mac had sheathed a dagger in Cassandra's heart. "She was starting to awaken," he explained, wiping the blade off.

He found three sets of eyes, Ritter, Sanchez, and Edwards, blinking at him, before they got with the program. "Right," Edwards said. His face made a quick sort of 'holy-jesus' kind of expression. "How are your acting skills?" he asked Ritter.

Reddening, Ritter said, "I was in the high school drama club."

Sanchez snickered.

But thirty minutes later they had the scene set. They'd moved off the road, not trusting to their luck continuing with no traffic. They had driven the car to an area cut off from the road by a copse of trees. Cassandra was currently sitting inside the car as if Ritter had driven her here. Edwards was lying on the ground, some of Cassandra's blood convincingly pooled on his chest. Sanchez was on the ground, in a realistic death sprawl, more of Cassandra's spilled blood on his back.

Joe was with Lorne, who had taken the helicopter far enough away to not be noticed, but within line of sight, as Joe was ready with a sniper rifle to take Cassandra out if she decided to find out for herself if Edwards and Sanchez were really dead.

With a grimace, he watched Duncan pull out the knife from Cassandra's heart and stab himself with it, close enough to his heart to fool Cassandra, but not close to enough to kill him, leaving him in the game for a while, at least until he bled to death.

Joe wished he could hear Ritter, but he looked like he was doing a pretty good job of being completely freaked, and totally in thrall to Cassandra once she awakened. He sincerely hoped that wasn't the case, and didn't let his eyes off of the Immortal as she got out of the car, taking in the scene, knowing she could move fast if she chose.

"Can you tell what they're saying?" he whispered to Lorne, who was watching the scene through binoculars.

"I'm only catching a few words. Something about us coming back and how they need to get out of there. Someplace safe. Something like that." His eyes squinted as he followed the action. "I'm not sure she's buying it."

Joe could see how Ritter was pointing out all the dead people, no doubt laying it on that he'd done it all for her. He hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick. She wasn't an idiot.

Cassandra glanced down at Duncan. A vicious smile crossed her lips.

"I think she's gonna buy it," Joe said. "She's thinking she's got a new prize for a better payoff." Jesus, what a piece of work she was. Joe just bet she was about to try to sell Duncan for thirty pieces of silver. She pulled her phone out and sent a text. 

"I hope Edwards doesn't have to sneeze," Lorne said. Cassandra had dismissed him as dead, along with Sanchez, but it wouldn't take much to bring them front and center to her attention.

"Come on," Joe urged whoever she'd texted. As if he'd conjured it, Cassandra looked at her phone, read the response, and texted again. This time the response was immediate. She smiled nastily. Ritter, at her direction, helped her get Duncan in the car, looking very convincingly dead. Of course, he might be at this point, from bleeding out.

"Whoa," Lorne said in concern.

Cassandra had drawn her sword and was advancing on Ritter, his usefulness apparently at an end.

"Guess she decided she didn't need him," Joe said, and put a bullet through her heart. As she crumpled, again, to the ground, Lorne lifted the helicopter up and brought it back to land near the car, doing some neat flying to avoid the trees.

"You should get a fucking Oscar for that, Ritter," Sanchez was saying in admiration.

Edwards was sifting through her texts, his face grim. He had his own phone out in moments and was dialing a number. "General Hammond, it's Edwards. Harold Maybourne was Cassandra's contact for Osiris. I recognize the number." There was a pause. "Yes, sir, if there's one thing he has a lot of, it's hubris. And I'm sorry to hear it, too. I like the guy." Another pause. "Yes, sir." He ended the phone call. He toed at Cassandra's body. "What do we do with her? We can't let her go; she'll contact Maybourne and let him know we're on to her. I can't believe the idiot was using his own cell phone. Jesus."

Ritter pulled the knife out of Duncan, and thrust a dagger through Cassandra's heart while they talked it out.

Joe winced, thinking these guys had acclimated to Immortals a little too fast for his liking, including knowing how to incapacitate them. Then again, he supposed that to men who made their living walking on other planets and dealing with aliens, shit like this was old hat.

"I thought we were taking her to Buckley," Sanchez said.

"With a knife in her chest?" Edwards asked, the expression on his face making it clear what he thought of that idea.

Edwards got his phone out again and called Hammond for some advice. Ten minutes later they were in the helicopter on their way back to the mountain, Cassandra strapped onto one of the benches, blade taped in place.

*****

Methos clenched his teeth as Osiris' First Prime sprayed him with freezing cold water. Osiris wouldn't let him get up for any reason, so it was inevitable that the call of nature at some point couldn't be avoided any longer. He supposed the water was nominally better than lying in his own shit.

But this guy was an asshole. He was obeying Osiris' rules and not laying a hand on Methos, but he was using the water to cause as much discomfort as possible, spraying the water in his face, on his balls, and just being a general asswipe. He had this manic cruel look on his face that made Methos' skin crawl.

Add that to the visuals he hadn't been able to get rid of since Osiris had shared his ultimate goals for Methos, and he knew he had to figure out some way to get off this table, no matter the price. So far, he hadn't come up with a single idea. He needed someone other than Osiris and his First Prime in the room, alone. Someone he could manipulate a little more easily. 

Other than to make adjustments to his IV and change over bags of fluids under Osiris' careful observations, he hadn't let anyone else in the room. Methos didn't remember him being this clever four thousand years ago.

Doing his best to ignore the cold shower, Methos let himself drift back in time, trying to recall any weakness he could use. Most of his memories were clouded with the years of torture he endured at the Goa'uld's hands for killing Tefnut.

Methos had denied it was his fault, trying to take advantage of his simple slave persona, but Osiris had judged him guilty of his lover's death and would not be budged from that position. Methos could still remember the feel of the creature trying to burrow through his neck. He usually pushed those thoughts away because they seriously creeped him out, but this time he tried to remember exactly what happened, what had caused the thing to die and land on the ground near his feet.

It had entered his body, and Methos had felt its malevolent intent and its absolute belief that it would take over Methos' mind and body. The water cascading over him stopped, jarring Methos' thoughts away from the past moment. He waited for the First Prime to leave, never sure if this would be the time he decided to have some fun at Methos' expense, despite Osiris' orders. He liked all his body parts where they were.

Footsteps move away and, despite how achingly cold he was, Methos relaxed minutely. Then, a vision of himself without arms, being dumped back on Earth to either die, helpless, in a challenge, or even worse, end up living off the charity of Mac or Joe, being fed and having his ass wiped, filled his mind, and he thought about calling the First Prime back and harassing him into taking his head. Living like that was not an option. He relaxed again when he thought of Mac. Mac would take his head if that happened. He would. He'd have to.

Methos forced himself back to the past. But then Osiris' other threat filled his mind. He'd seen people kept in jars in China. He'd found it horrifying and had done his best to poison them, ending their pitiful lives. He had no intention of adorning Osiris' living room like a repulsive live statuette, his mouth used like some glory hole. Jesus, he needed to pull it together.

Tefnut. The malevolence. The feel of it creeping inside his body and his mind. What had happened? Had it been an autonomic reflex of an Immortal's body, or had Methos done something? He tried to remember what the creature had been thinking, if there'd been secrets available to Methos for even that short period of time before it had died that Methos could take advantage of.

The memory grew clearer along with the knowledge that he had done something. He'd consciously used his quickening and literally electrocuted the thing. If he'd done it consciously, that meant he could choose not to do it. Along with that recollection, he was able to summon up something else; his response to the Goa'uld's malevolence was that it was a joke.

A door slid open and Methos crooked his neck to see Osiris coming in. "Just the person I wanted to speak to," Methos said. "I have a proposition for you." It was a tremendous risk, but Methos was all about surviving, even if it was as a vessel for a Goa'uld. He thought it would work; he thought he could control a Goa'uld inside of him, but if things went wrong, if Death was going to make an encore, what better fate than as the scourge of the entire galaxy. 

Duncan would be angry that he'd taken such a chance, but Methos would take that over losing his limbs. Although, Methos couldn't help but think, losing Duncan would be like losing a limb, especially now when he had been given permission to feast upon the man and have everything he'd ever wanted from the moment he first set eyes on the gorgeous Highlander.

Osiris smiled before letting out a peal of unfriendly laughter. "Your arrogance is never-ending, Methos. How can you possibly believe you have a single bargaining chip to offer?"

"Let's talk about the appeal of having an Immortal's body as your vessel."

He gave Methos a sharp look. "Do you think me foolish? I watched Tefnut die as he entered you."

"You were right back then. I did kill him. I killed him." As rage suffused Osiris' face, Methos added, "Which means I can choose not to kill."

"How can you believe I would trust you?"

"Because I'm bored, Osiris. Truly bored. I want to experience something brand new. Four thousand years ago, if you had explained, I might have been willing, but I was young and startled and reacted badly. Together," Methos said, letting Death out to smile, "we will rule the universe. You'll have a body that cannot be killed, and you'll have access to my mind and my experiences."

Osiris was intrigued, Methos could tell, but he didn't trust him. "What would stop you from killing me?"

"Surely you can set up enough fail-safes to keep me from killing you. Have a Jaffa at each limb ready to tear me asunder if you must. But why would I want to kill you, when you have the means to keep me entertained for centuries?" 

"I will give this some thought," Osiris said. He took out a knife. "But I am not done playing." He commanded a Jaffa to drag the bucket over that had been used to collect Methos' blood from his previous deaths. No doubt it had been emptied into a bigger bucket which would eventually be emptied in something big enough and sturdy enough to boil him in. Charming. The tub was placed on the floor under Methos' right hand. Osiris made a quick deep slash across his wrist. "Let's see how long it takes you to die like this."

Methos looked at the blood gushing from his wrist. "With me lying like this, about an hour. It will take about thirty-five minutes for much of the blood to leave my body, and then the rest of the time for my body to shut down and for my heart to stop." Death grinned at Osiris. "I do have this down to a science. The things I could teach you."

Osiris considered Methos in silence for a minute. "I will be back in thirty-five minutes. I will enjoy watching you gasp for breath and die." He strode out of the room.

"Bite me," Methos yelled after him.

*****

SG-1 walked back through the wormhole into the Gateroom. MacLeod was standing there along with Edwards and his team. It looked like Joe was back up in the control room.

"Where is she?" Jack asked.

"Locked up somewhere," Edwards said, "where no one can hear her. I saw her do that voice thing, and it wasn't pretty. Reminded me of Hathor."

Jack glanced at Daniel just in time to see him grimace. Fucking bitch. Jack had enjoyed killing her; he just wished it had taken longer. "Hammond said we got a name."

"Maybourne," Edwards said with a roll of his eyes.

"Just the sort of man to make a deal with several devils at the same time. Who's he in bed with besides Osiris?"

"The Trust," Hammond said, walking into the Gateroom. All the military people in the room saluted. "As you were," Hammond said. "And that's not all." He gestured at MacLeod. "Maybourne knows a lot about Immortals. I'm afraid Cassandra, in her thirst for revenge, chose to provide them with a large amount of information about Immortals."

MacLeod's lips tightened and he shook his head in dismay. "I don't understand her at all."

"However, on the brighter side, we did get a planet designation for Osiris," Hammond stated. "Colonel O'Neill and Colonel Edwards, get your teams ready for another mission."

"Sir, should we send through a MALP?" Carter asked.

Jack was of mixed minds. For all they knew, Maybourne had given them the address to a volcano planet. On the other hand, they could give themselves away sending a MALP ahead of them. "Probably a good idea," Jack finally said. He wished they had a ship they could take, sneak in the back door. "Nothing from Jacob, sir?"

"No, not a word." 

"I'd like to go," MacLeod said with a stubborn hitch of his jaw.

Jack frowned at him. 

"We should bring him," Edwards said. "This is his fight, too."

Surprised that Edwards was willing to do anything outside the book, Jack shrugged. "Fine with me." Then, more sharply he added, "As long as we've all got the same goals. Get our teams, get the old guy, and get out of there."

"And try to save Sarah," Daniel added.

Jack shot him a look.

"If we can," Daniel said firmly.

"If we can," Jack agreed dubiously. This stuff never went well for Daniel. Ever. To MacLeod, he continued, "And I'm in charge. No running off to do your own thing."

"Agreed," MacLeod said.

"It will take thirty minutes to prepare a MALP. I suggest you all get ready," Hammond said.

"Yes, sir," was chorused from several people.

Hammond nodded and left the Gateroom.

"Lorne," Jack said, "get MacLeod kitted up."

"Yes, sir," Lorne said. "Come on," he said to MacLeod. "Let's get you something better to wear than what you have on." What he had on was covered in blood.

MacLeod looked down at himself and sighed, before following Lorne out of the room.

Thirty minutes later, the MALP trundled through the event horizon to what they hoped was Osiris' current location. Jack stood next to Carter as they waited for the machine's camera to send back information.

"There," Carter said.

The MALP was showing the inside of a room. "Crap," Jack said. He wanted the gate somewhere outside, where they could get in and do some reconnaissance before moving in. "We could get picked off as we come out the other end."

"There's no one there," Carter pointed out. 

The MALP followed its preprogrammed directions and moved slowly in a circle. 

"Like that's not suspicious," Jack said. "They could all be hiding, waiting for us to walk through."

"Or this room may not be one that's routinely used," Carter argued.

"It's his Stargate. Where anything, like us, could walk right through. You don't think they'd have it guarded? We have an iris and we keep ours guarded."

"Maybe the Jaffa patrol and check this room out intermittently?" Edwards suggested.

"Maybe," Jack conceded, "But this feels like a set up to me."

The rest of the two teams were starting to show up. "Are we going?" Edwards asked.

"The gate's inside a building," Jack announced.

Edwards scowled. "You think someone tipped Osiris off? That they're expecting us?"

"I don't know." Jack watched the MALP do another circle. Nothing. "There's no dust on the floor, no tracks. That room gets used." 

"Why would they be waiting for us?" MacLeod asked. "He has what he wanted."

"He'd love to get his hands on Daniel, too," Jack said. "He's like public enemy number one out there."

MacLeod's eyes wandered over Daniel, his forehead furrowed, as if he didn't quite get why.

Jack didn't take the time to explain. If MacLeod hung around he'd figure it out; if he didn't, it wouldn't matter.

"Do we go or not?" MacLeod asked, his eyes moving from Daniel to Jack.

"Not yet. Carter, keep an eye on this thing, see if there's any activity. Hopefully no one will notice the honkin' huge piece of machinery that's just sitting there. I need to talk to the general."

*****

"We're more alike than you think," Methos said. He'd been gratified to know that he'd been right on the money about how long it took him to die. "I've been alive as long as you. Who else can you reminisce about the pharaohs to? The other Goa'uld?" Methos snorted in derision.

"If I had control of your body, I wouldn't be talking to you," Osiris said.

"But you could," Methos countered "Right? Can't you chat with your host if you want to?"

"Most hosts are not worth the bother. They are captives chosen for their appearance, not their minds."

"Why is that?" Methos asked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to groom hosts, so that they could lend all that they are to the cause? Make them think it's some sort of huge honor to be chosen, picking only the best and the brightest? Seems a waste to just choose a pretty face." Then, "Although it probably helps to demoralize the planets where you've stolen your unwilling hosts. Often the most beautiful people are in the public eye."

"Fear and humiliation are powerful motivators."

"Yes, but it also makes powerful enemies. How did the Goa'uld make the Earth your enemy?"

Osiris scowled at him. "They are an arrogant race."

"They are a race of survivors," Methos corrected him. "If you, meaning the Goa'uld, had handled that first contact better, with some good PR, you could have had Earth eating out of your hands. Humans are always looking for the next trendy thing, or a way to get a leg up on someone else."

"We have allies on Earth," he said scornfully. "I will allow them to survive as long as they remain useful." His eyes lit up with avarice. "They told me about you."

"How did Cassandra find you?"

"That ridiculous woman?"

Methos barked out a laugh. "Yes, that ridiculous woman. How did you two connect?"

"Through my allies. They know of Immortals. They heard of you through her. She was brought in for more information."

Stupid woman, Methos thought. If she identified Mac to them, Methos would destroy her.

"We will try implanting you with another Goa'uld first," Osiris suddenly said. "Trust me when I say that you would be unwise to try to trick me. You will lose a limb every time I think you are lying."

Methos nodded his head in agreement as best he could lying flat on his back. 

"Bring him," Osiris snapped to someone out of his line of sight.

Inside, Methos was yelling hallelujahs when the straps were undone.

*****

"Sir," Carter said, pointing toward the screen, where several Jaffa were now examining the MALP and the open event horizon on the gate.

"Maybe we should have just gone through. We've certainly lost the element of surprise now," Jack said. He glanced at his watch. "How long before the gate closes?"

"Nine minutes and fifteen seconds," Carter said. More Jaffa were coming through by the second, their staff weapons locked and loaded for anything that might be coming through the gate.

Jack could easily envision Osiris sending more of their team members through the gate in retaliation. "Set it up to keep dialing so we can keep it open on our end. I don't want anything coming through to our end."

"Yes, sir."

"Walter, can you put that picture through to the conference room?"

He nodded, started pushing buttons, and Jack, Edwards and his team, MacLeod, Joe, and Hammond headed to the conference room to see what happened next.

*****

Duncan couldn't keep his eyes off the screen, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was watching events on another planet. Joe sat next to him, and every now and then they'd glance at each other, and Duncan could see the same incredulity in Joe's eyes as what must be in his own.

After the men, or Jaffa, as everyone here called them, had discovered the MALP, or the Mobile Analytic Laboratory Probe-- he'd asked what it meant --several Jaffa had been left on guard. Osiris had stopped by once, noticed the MALP, smiled a very superior sort of smile, and left. No one had returned, even though it was now forty-five minutes later. The wormhole had disengaged twice, and each time they'd reopened it to find the guards still in place.

As Duncan understood it, one step through the wormhole and they would be there, right there, on that other planet where Osiris was holding Methos. What was her game? Or his? The gender identity was confusing. She was clearly a woman, but the creature inside was a male. Everyone here referred to her as a him. 

Why was the alien so cavalier about this clear threat? Did he want them to come through? If so, Jack was correct and this was a trap. On the other hand, the longer they waited, the more likely it was Osiris could take Methos somewhere else and they'd never find him. Wouldn't it be better to move in now with a large force rather than wait and risk losing it all? 

Colonel O'Neill was standing against the wall, Dr. Jackson next to him. The beautiful blonde woman, Samantha Carter, was back in the control room, making sure the wormhole remained open. Teal'c, another one of these Jaffa, according to Dr. Jackson, watched the screen as well, as motionless as the Jaffa left on guard. Edwards and his team had left a few minutes ago with instructions from the colonel to stay close.

"Every time I think I have a handle on the old man, he springs something like this on us," Joe muttered. 

Duncan smirked at him. "Who else but Adam would have an alien with a grudge after him?"

Joe's phone rang again. Joe gave the phone a glowering look but ignored it.

"Not going to answer that?" Duncan asked.

"Nope. The shit's hitting the fan, and I haven't quite decided what my response is going to be. That's assuming they give me an option. I did some serious interfering today, Mac. I don't think they'll be so ready to forgive and forget this time."

"I'll go with you when you have to face them," Duncan promised him.

"I'm not sure I'm gonna go. Aliens, Mac. I never thought I'd leave the Watchers because I couldn't imagine a career that would thrill me as much, but…" he gestured at the screen, "that's another planet." He leaned in and minutely gestured at Teal'c. "That's an alien. They're fighting for Earth here, you know? I could do some good, I think."

"Do you really mean that, or is that a response to all those phone calls?"

"I'm pretty sure a door's closing, so I'm a little more open to new opportunities right now," Joe said pragmatically. "And this one's got some firepower and I might need some protection." They watched the silent guard. "What about you?"

Good question. He'd had Methos right where he wanted him for one night, and then it had all dissolved into smoke. He knew Methos hated the game. So did Duncan for that matter, but he'd never avoided it. From the moment he'd become an Immortal, it was what he'd been taught. Lord knows Methos had tried to explain that just because it was what he'd been taught, it didn't mean he should embrace it as a lifestyle. He could almost hear Methos yelling at him to be a little flexible, and not in regards to positions in bed. 

Methos was an aggravating puzzle because he believed in so little, but Duncan could grant that it must be hard to believe in anything when everything changed over time. Duncan wanted his life to stand for something, but even he could see that he'd end up losing it all, sooner or later, because of the passing of the years, or because of the Game.

"I don't know," he finally answered Joe. "It would be something new." He glanced at Colonel O'Neill, only to find the man watching him. Duncan knew he hadn't made the best impression on the man, while Methos evidently had. If they couldn't get Methos back, he doubted he'd be invited to stay. Then again, he wouldn't want to stay if he couldn't get Methos back. He glanced back at the screen. "Hey," he said, "they're leaving."

The colonel and Dr. Jackson came to stand near them, watching the screen as the Jaffa left in a hurry. Duncan's eyes widened when a minute later Methos walked into the room where the MALP resided. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight of his friend and lover. Alive! He was wearing loose flowing pants and a long Nehru-looking jacket over it.

"Hello," Methos said to the machine. "Is anyone there? Come on through. The weather's fine."

The colonel bounded for the control room, and Duncan followed him quickly.

"How do I know that's really you?" O'Neill asked into the microphone that must be a direct link to the MALP.

"Jack!" Methos said with a pleased smile. "Did you miss me? Seriously, though, come through. I've manufactured a small crisis that's taking everyone's attention. Come now, we can get your men, get me, and get the hell out of here."

"What kind of crisis?" O'Neill demanded.

"A bomb sort of crisis," Methos said. "Amazing the stuff they leave hanging around."

O'Neill flipped a switch. "Damn it, do we believe him or not?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Duncan asked. "I don't understand."

"A Goa'uld could have taken your friend over, and is now controlling him."

"But he's acting normal," Joe protested.

"They're good at that," O'Neill said dryly, "They can pull on the memories of their host."

"I don't believe it," Duncan said. "No one could easily assimilate Methos' memories and take him over." No way would some alien take over Methos' mind and not need a day or two to get his sea legs.

"Do you believe that enough to put our lives on the line?" O'Neill asked. "If we go through there, and he's a Goa'uld, we're dead."

"Yes," Duncan said stoutly. If there was one thing he believed in it was that Methos would never stand by and allow some creature to take control that easily.

Methos had a frustrated look on his face. "Hello? Are you still there? What do I need to do to prove myself to you? Ask me anything."

O'Neill flipped the switch again, apparently un-muting the conversation from their end.

"A Goa'uld would be able to access Methos' memories," O'Neill responded.

Methos looked to be in serious thought for a moment, pursing his lips, then he spread his hands open wide. "I got nothing." 

Duncan suddenly thought of something. "You took a head on holy ground. Why is that church still standing?"

"That's what you want to ask me?" Methos asked with an amused shake of his head. "I'm not sure how it got started, but once Immortals began to believe it, and after I found out it was a lie, I did everything I could to keep them believing."

Duncan's jaw dropped. "What does that mean?"

"It means you can take a head anywhere you want, Mac. Not taking a head on holy ground is a myth. Things were bad back then, and I'm not talking about the Horsemen. Challenges were a regular occurrence, and having a place to go to ground was a necessary thing." 

"And you're telling me it's a lie?" Duncan scoffed.

Methos shrugged. "You saw the proof for yourself, although I wasn't quite myself if I took a head in a church. I'd be the last person who'd want that lie to be found out."

Joe looked skeptical. "And no one's ever been forced to take a head on holy ground before and figured it out?"

"Immortals are a paranoid lot," Methos said. "I'm guessing if anyone ever did find out, they kept it to themselves like I did. And while this has been fun," he added, looking over his shoulder, "you're running out of time, and I'd really like to come home now. Osiris almost has a full bathtub of my blood, and he's looking forward to boiling me in it."

O'Neill looked at Hammond, who nodded yes. With a fatalistic glance at the screen, O'Neill called, "Saddle up, kids."

Methos grinned. "I'll be waiting."

O'Neill flicked the switch off. "I'm throwing a shock grenade through, just in case."

"That is Methos," Duncan stated clearly. And it was, every arrogant inch of him. "I know him much better than you."

"And I'm still using a shock grenade. He can deal."

Edwards' team entered the Gateroom, and O'Neill led his team, followed by Duncan, into the Gateroom as well. Joe watched from the control room.

Duncan felt odd in the clothes he'd been given; it had been a long time since he'd worn a uniform. He was armed much as the others, but he also had his sword with him. If Methos had been taken over by an alien, Duncan would take his head. Methos wouldn't want to live that way.

O'Neill tossed a silver orb through the wormhole. He counted to ten, and then walked through the liquid egress.

*****

When Jack walked through the wormhole and arrived at the other end, he didn't see Methos. He walked around the gate to see where Methos was, hoping to hell MacLeod was right. He had two seconds to take in Methos standing by the door, eyes glowing, a zat in his hands to realize how fucking wrong he'd been, then the electrical sting of a zat blast was enveloping him and he was out for the count.

With a jerk, Jack woke up, only to find himself lying on the floor, hands tied tightly behind his back. He managed to sit up, and found everyone was in the same predicament, tied up, and recovering from being zatted. Methos was sitting on a table, his legs swinging, zat held casually in his hand, grinning at them all. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," he said.

"I will fucking end you," Jack growled. An Immortal as a System Lord. What a fucking nightmare. Granted, he knew he just had to cut the fucker's head off, but that was easier said than done, given the ribbon device the Goa'uld was wearing. Not to mention the fact that it was Methos, and he'd liked the old guy, and he didn't want him as an enemy. 

He glanced at the rest of the group to see everyone was sitting up now. "Everyone okay?"

He got a lot of nods, except from MacLeod who said, "Methos, untie us."

"He's not Methos," Jack said, "not anymore."

"Send everyone away," Methos said to his First Prime, his eyes glowing, voice amplified. "Except you."

The First Prime nodded, yelled out some orders in Goa'uld, and soon the room was empty except for the Goa'uld and his head honcho.

"Ready to have some fun?" the Goa'uld inside Methos asked his First Prime.

The man's eyes were gleaming with sadistic pleasure, and Jack glanced quickly to make sure he was between him and Daniel, that Daniel hadn't moved closer so he could try to get through to Methos. The First Prime gave the Goa'uld a brief nod of eager assent. Jack readied himself to make the first move, hands tied or not. Nothing was happening to anyone on his team without going through him first.

"I bet you are, you sick fuck," the Goa'uld said and shot the First Prime three times. When the Jaffa disintegrated into nothing, he said, "What an asshole."

Jack stared at the space where the First Prime used to be.

The man Jack had assumed wasn't Methos grabbed a knife from the pile of confiscated weapons and moved to Jack.

Jack instinctively jerked away from him, even as he was rapidly evaluating the situation and deciding that maybe they weren't as fucked as he'd thought.

"It's me, Jack, Methos."

"And the glowing eyes?"

"Party trick," Methos said with a sly grin. "I had to get rid of the other Jaffa. They'd have caught on before I could shoot them all. I need you for that." He leaned around Jack and cut the ties holding him. "Does this help convince you?" He handed Jack the knife. "Once everyone's loose and rearmed, we can get the rest of your men out and get out of here." He selected another knife and moved to MacLeod next, cutting his ties. "Hello, Mac."

Jack stood, said, "Almost convinced," and he strode to Methos and thrust the dagger into his heart, the dagger sliding out as the body slipped to the floor.

"What the hell did you do that for?" MacLeod yelled as he moved to Methos, sitting down to pull his head up on his lap. "He was setting us free."

"Because I'll trust what he wakes up as, more than I do what he says he is. If he's really Methos, he'll get why I did that. If he doesn't, then we'll know for sure."

Jack moved down the row, freeing everyone.

MacLeod glared at Jack while he stayed on the floor, holding Methos. When Methos gasped alive, MacLeod looked down at him. "I thought I'd lost you again."

"I'm pretty hard to lose," Methos said.

Jack let out a sigh of relief. Now he was almost completely convinced. "Just how did you do that party trick? You got a Goa'uld in your head?"

"Osiris," Methos told him.

Jack raised his rifle and pointed the business end at Methos. "How is it possible that you can have a Goa'uld in your head, one of the particularly nasty ones, and still be you?"

Methos looked a little uncomfortable at the question and struggled to sit up.

MacLeod was the one who answered, even as he gave Methos a steadying shoulder to balance on. "It never stood a chance once it took a look at that mind of yours, did it?"

Methos shook his head. "It thinks it's evil, but it's mostly kindergarten stuff."

"Then I find myself grateful for your time as Death," MacLeod said, "if it helped you leash the creature."

"My silver lining?" Methos asked with a hint of sarcasm. 

Once everyone was free and on their feet and rearming themselves, Jack moved to stand in front of Methos, next to MacLeod. "Are you trying to tell me that you're more evil than it is?"

"I was more evil," Methos said calmly. "Three thousand years ago."

"He's not now," MacLeod said.

"Yeah, I get that part," Jack said. "How do I know Osiris won't be able to take control?"

"Not a chance," Methos said. 

"How are you making its eyes glow?"

"I'm in charge." As if to prove his point, his eyes glowed. "I can make it do what I want," he said in Goa'uld. "And I can speak fluent Goa'uld now, which is a bonus."

"He said he can speak Goa'uld," Daniel translated.

"He said that part in English," Jack griped, "besides he was talking Goa'uld back at the hospital."

"Not fluently," Methos corrected him.

"What's the worst that can happen if he's wrong?" Daniel asked Jack. "We have our weapons back. It's not like we can't shoot him."

Methos shot Daniel a look. "Don't put ideas in his head."

Daniel grinned at him. "Is Sarah all right?"

Nodding, Methos said, "I have her tucked away safely out of harm's way."

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"You're welcome," Methos said. "And if it makes you feel better," he told Jack, "you and I can sit down and have a long talk once we're done, you and General Hammond. Oh, the things I know now! About all the System Lords, about their bases, and their long term plans, and oh, is he pissed," Methos finished with a point at his head.

"That does make me feel better," Jack said, thinking about all that intel, theirs for the taking. "Especially about the part about him being pissed. Hear that, you pissant! That's what you get for messing with us!"

Methos smirked at him. "You should hear him cuss."

"I wish I could," Jack said.

"It's in Goa'uld, but I can translate later."

"Everyone here believing this is Methos?" he asked the group. "I don't want any doubters who might decide to take the opportunity to put a bullet in his head."

MacLeod glowered at them all, stepping between Methos and the rest of them.

Jack snickered. Methos, especially now, would be at the top of his list of people who didn't need protection. Sneaky bastard. "You couldn't have clued us in a little sooner?" Jack groused. "You took ten years off my life."

"I told you it was him," MacLeod growled at him. "You dinna listen."

"Your brogue is showing," Methos told him, poking him from behind.

"I've known you for years," he insisted. "I knew you were you. He would'na listen."

"I suspect he's been fooled before by these creatures, and he's a once-burned kind of guy. But thanks, Mac. I'm glad you knew."

"I did."

Jack watched as Methos smiled this really genuine, kind of shy, completely besotted look at MacLeod, and Jack remembered that the two of them were lovers. Jack would have gone ballistic if he'd been saying the same kind of thing about Daniel and he'd been ignored. "I'll listen harder next time," Jack told MacLeod.

"See that you do," MacLeod responded less than graciously, but Jack let it slide.

"You know where they're keeping my men?" Jack asked.

"Yes. How do you want to play this?"

"You don't have a plan?" Jack asked him.

"I have several, but you're the boss. I'm just a guy."

Jack snorted. "Right." He looked Edwards' way. "I'm inclined to just go for it, taking them out as we find them. Okay with you?"

"Like the man said, you're the boss," Edwards told him. "I'm just a guy."

Methos snickered.

"I'm surrounded by comedians. Bad ones." Jack gestured at Methos. "You lead the way. Do your best to razzle-dazzle them so we take them out nice and easy."

"Glad to," Methos said, a vicious grin on his face. With that they were through the door.

*****

The last time Duncan had felt like he was fighting for the right reason, he'd been a resistance fighter in France during World War II. Then, as now, there'd been a clear enemy, an undeniable sense of right and wrong, and a greater purpose to defend. Despite the unavoidable moments in any war that blurred the lines between black and white, it had been a righteous fight, and Duncan had never reclaimed that feeling until now.

Years of answering challenges, or going after rogue Immortals, or even dealing with his own dark quickening, had left an ever-increasing unease in him. Methos had been right when he said the Game was ridiculous and futile. Duncan didn't want death to be what defined him. He didn't want the number of people he killed, whether they deserved it or not, to be what got him recognition. He was sick of it.

This, though, he thought, as he raced down the halls with Methos at his side, both of them wearing wild grins, this he could do.

*****

Everyone home safe and sound, the debriefing of Osiris well underway with Joe's help, who was proving exceptional at keeping track of all the astonishing information coming out of Methos' mouth, a trip to Cimmeria in his near future to get the slug out of the old man's head, with Methos, Duncan, and Joe signed on to help with the Stargate program, Jack laid back on the bed and heaved a truly satisfied sigh.

It didn't hurt that Daniel Jackson was lying next to him, heaving a similar sigh. 

"How's Sarah?"

Daniel crinkled his nose. "Hard to say. She'll be in therapy for a long time, but at least she's home and free again. Relatively."

Not exactly free, Jack thought. She knew too much to ever be free again. But she could work for Stargate Command, too, and find a way to be useful. A traitorous thought snuck into Jack's mind. "You're not…you don't still have feelings for her, do you?"

Daniel shot him a disbelieving look. "What?"

Jack grinned. "Just checking." He reached out and pulled Daniel closer. "I thought we were all goners yesterday."

"Me too," Daniel said, nuzzling Jack's neck. "I really like him. I like them both, all three of them, but Methos reminds me so much of you, I can't help but like him."

"Duncan reminds me of you," Jack said. "So I expect he'll grow on me. Like a fungus."

Daniel pinched him. "Jerk."

"I wonder if we could pull this off again," Jack mused.

"Pull what off?" Daniel said. "Sex? I need a few minutes."

Jack chuffed a little. "I need more than a few minutes. No, I meant get another System Lord to choose Methos as his vessel and then take them down. Methos seems to like having a Goa'uld in his head. At least temporarily."

Laughing, Daniel said, "He does, doesn't he? Like a kid in a candy store with all that knowledge for the taking. Especially when he found out he could heal all the people in the infirmary."

Jack had actually considered letting Methos keep Osiris in his head, but Methos had said no. Had said that Osiris was constantly fighting him, and if Methos got incapacitated somehow, he wasn't sure Osiris couldn't take over, at least until Methos recovered. Methos was sure anyone who might be with him at that moment would be killed by Osiris in retaliation. 

And that had been the end of that. 

"Can you imagine being alive that long?" Daniel suddenly said.

Jack couldn't begin to fathom it. Sometimes he thought the regrets and sorrows and anger from this relatively short life of his would cripple him, probably would have if Daniel Jackson hadn't tripped into his life, so he couldn't imagine multiplying that a hundred-fold. "Not sure how he does it." The amount of people he must have buried over the decades was staggering to think about.

"Certainly puts my own life and sorrows in perspective. I don't think the human mind is equipped for living that long," Daniel mused. As if reading Jack's mind, added, "I can't imagine how many people he's loved that he's buried." He leaned in and kissed Jack. "He's obviously a survivor, like you."

"And like you, Dr. Jackson."

"He'll watch us all die," Daniel said sadly.

Jack found himself strangely relieved by that, that there'd be a witness left standing to tell the tale. Not sure how to say that out loud, he pushed Daniel on his back, and kissed him soundly.

*****

"It's strange to think that there's someone else inside of you, listening to us," Mac said, his hand running up and down Methos' side, from shoulder to thigh. 

They were naked, enjoying the break from the non-stop interrogations. "I blocked him out," Methos said. "I don't want to share this view with anyone." He supported his head with one hand, the other caressing Mac's chest, plucking at nipples, drawing his fingers around the definition of his abs, and territorially gathering Mac's now un-aroused sex in his hand. 

"Like that, do you?" Duncan asked, as he started to perk up in interest.

"I like everything about you," Methos said. "You're magnificent." Enjoying the blush creeping over Mac's face, Methos focused his attention on Mac's ever-growing sex. He moved down Mac's body and took him in his mouth.

Duncan groaned, covering his eyes with his hands, his body arching up into Methos' mouth. "You'll be the death of me. How many orgasms do you think I have in me?" 

Methos grinned around the hardening flesh in his mouth. This orgasm would be number four in the last three hours. He let go his mouthful. "As many as I want," he answered with a lascivious grin, taking Mac back in his mouth and sucking hard.

And Methos would keep counting. Right now, right here, with this new life of his, new workmates he truly liked, startling new opportunities, with Joe close at hand, and Mac back in his life and finally, finally in his bed, Methos was quivering with a rich contentment he hadn't known in… Methos couldn't remember when. Ever, maybe. 

He put his mind back on task, and pleasured Mac, already having learned what pleased him, and proceeded to drive him, gasping for air, fingers clutched in the sheets, to his fourth orgasm.

The man lay as dead afterwards, and Methos took the time to look his fill. He was magnificent. And his. He waited patiently for Mac to come back around and found himself cuddled warmly up against Mac's heated body.

The contentment radiated into his bones. "Are you sure you can give it up, Mac?" he asked.

"You ask me that again, and I'll strangle you," Mac said, sounding affectionate and exasperated at the same time. He opened his eyes and gazed at Methos. "I know my own mind, Methos. This is the right thing to do. And if it ever feels like it's not the right thing to do, we'll decide then what we do next."

"We?"

"We, old man. You and me. I'm never letting you go."

Ridiculous, thought Methos, but he grinned at the notion.

*****

The sound of a key in the door woke Cassandra up, and she rose quickly, grabbing the weapon she'd devised out of a broken shard of the bathroom mirror.

She hoped to God it was Methos come to speak to her. She'd scrape his head off one layer of skin and bone at a time, reviving him occasionally so he could see what his death would look like.

The door swung open and she smiled when she saw who it was. "It's about time. Are we leaving?"

"No," Maybourne said as he shot her. As she slumped to the ground, clutching her chest in horror, he said, "Dead men tell no tales, and you've got quite a tale to tell." He reached behind him for a sword and she gasped when she realized she would meet her death here, in this prison, all she was and all she'd learned lost to bleed out on the floor.

Then the sword slashed down and everything ended.

*****

"You ready, old man?" Jack asked, as he checked his gear. "I've been told this hurts."

Methos shrugged. "I'm ready to have my brain back again. I'm tired of the incessant whining."

Jack chuckled at the thought of Osiris' epiphany being reduced to 'whiny bastard' inside the body of a 5000 year old man. Served the asshole right.

The four of them were going, Jack, Daniel, Methos, and MacLeod. Jack, because he'd run through the maze with Methos. MacLeod would go because he'd insist on going with Daniel to meet them at the exit on the other side of the hammer. 

This morning, when it had been reported that Cassandra was dead, her head having been sliced off sometime during the night, Jack had expected MacLeod to throw a hissy fit. Instead, MacLeod had looked momentarily sober but then mostly relieved. He hadn't even asked who had done it. 

The problem was that Jack had no idea who had done it. He would have guessed Joe Dawson and either Ritter or Sanchez, but they had looked so genuinely surprised at the news of her death, that Jack was forced to come up with new suspects. And while he normally wouldn't condone a death happening to someone under his dubious protection in the dead of night, Jack was glad of it. He hadn't been able to come up with a better solution to her disposition than her being dead, and this took that unpleasant decision out of his hands. 

Hammond hadn't been pleased, but he hadn't been displeased either, and Jack brought his attention back to the here and now, deciding that was all the attention that crazy Immortal deserved.

"Can we go?" Methos asked impatiently. "I've got scrolls to read."

"And I'm meeting Teal'c to spar," MacLeod said.

Jack rolled his eyes. Even though he saw himself in Methos, and Daniel in MacLeod, every now and then they'd do something like this and completely swap roles. Jack wondered what he'd be like four hundred years from now, if he'd be more like Daniel, content to read for hours at a time. Just the thought gave him the shivers, and without further ado, he shoved Methos through the event horizon. 

The End!!!


End file.
